


Loose Ties

by unbreakable_femme_fatale



Series: Lucy [1]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Case Fic, F/M, FBI, Father/Daughter, Federal Agent, Fem!Shawn, Feminism, Genderbending, Heavy Angst, Hurt Shawn, Hurt Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, PTSD, Police Academy, Shassie, Shawn is a girl, Shawna&Gus, Shawna&Henry, Shawna&Juliet, Torture, Worried Lassie, criminal minds - Freeform, genuis Spencer, lassie in denial, loose cannon, psychic detective, shawn is goofy but a boss, snarky Spencer, worried Gus, worried Henry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 47,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_femme_fatale/pseuds/unbreakable_femme_fatale
Summary: Shawna Spencer: just like Shawn Spencer, except a little bit sharper, a little bit crazier, a little bit grittier, and a whole lot more female.There was a little known fact that Shawna Spencer's specialty was serial killers. There was an even lesser known fact that she has more experience than she lets on.Shawna and Gus's case for Ralph Dexter, who was supposedly living in a haunted house, was interrupted when Adam Beckett was murdered brutally in his own home--supposedly a felony murder, the result of a robbery gone wrong. But if it's alright, Shawna knows they're all wrong.The stakes are raised, and all of a sudden Detective Lassiter finds himself chasing after Shawna and Gus--mostly Shawna, but who's counting?





	1. Gus Gets a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> The following is the result of a headcanon I've had for awhile. So I introduce to you Shawna Spencer, and, because I'm me, her background has to be a lot more complex. Possible Criminal Minds crossover later. Enjoy!

“Gus, hold my hand.”

“I'm not holding your damn hand, Shawna.”

“Oh come on, don't be a silly ninny muggins. Hold my hand.”

“We're in a haunted house, Shawna! I'm getting out of here, and I'm sure as hell not playing ring around the rosie!”

Shawna clicked her tongue, pouting from her position of sitting criss cross applesauce on top of a table. “Oh Gus, don't be that way! You know that ring around the rosie is a psychic process with its roots in the Peloponnesian war in the Polynesian islands.”

“It's roots are found during the Black Plague, not the Peloponnesian War, which took place between Athens and Sparta, not the Polynesian islands!”

Shawna shrugged her shoulders. “I've heard it both ways.”

“No you haven't! You've been watching too much Gilligan's Island.”

“If I watched too much of Gilligan, we'd be searching for head hunters.” She slid easily off the table, her eyes squinting at the window. “Besides, there's no such thing as ghosts.”

“What? Did the spirits tell you that?” Gus mocked. “What else could have done this? All the doors and windows were locked, and there was no sign of forced entry.”

The _this_ in question, of course, was the Get Out crudely scrawled across the wallpapered living room wall, turning crusty as the blood dried. Shawna once again drew her attention back to the words, her eyes roving over the work of art. “Gus, just because there are no signs of break in doesn't mean no one did. I once worked a case…”

“Was it gross?”

Shawna shrugged her shoulders. “Kinda.”

“Then don't tell me.”

Again, Shawna shrugged her shoulders. “What I need to know is, whose blood is this?”

“Maybe it's not blood. Maybe it's ectoplasm!”

“Ectoplasm? Isn't that green and slimy?”

“Ghostbusters isn't a documentary, Shawna!”

“Hm.” Shawna's puckered her lips, an eyebrow raised in mock pensiveness. “I would have assumed it was. They even made a female version to shed light on sexism within the ghost hunting community.”

“That starred Kate McKinnon!”

“Oh, don't be that way, Gus! Lesbians can be ghost busters too! Quite frankly, I find your backwards thinking…”

Her voice fading out coincided with the entrance of the homeowner, a Mr. Ralph Dexter (which provided such great content for serial killer jokes). “I'm sorry, were you talking about lesbian ghost busters? Like the movie?”

“Exactly like the movie!” Shawna said, her head tilted to one side. “Little known fact, but that was based on a true story.”

“Ghosts took over New York?”

“New York, third world country that has no access to electricity, wifi, or...printing presses,” Shawna finished, her lip curled in disappointment at her own anti climatic ending. “Anyway, you say tomato, I say tahmahto.”

“The point is, it can be very difficult for our fellow paranormal hunters due to some backwards thinking within the community,” Gus said, with a flourishing smile and a sharp elbow to Shawna's ribs.

“So you must have some issues as a--psychic assistant?” 

“Who, Gus? Why would he have issues?” Shawna replied, at which point both Gus and Shawna stared pointedly at Ralph. “Is there something _different_ about him?”

“I mean, no, not really,” Ralph stuttered. “Listen, I just came into ask what you've found.”

“I won't lie to you, it's bad,” Shawna said, sighing dramatically. “Very bad spirits. Poltergeist. Several of them actually, so poltergeists. Poltergeests? Poltergeistes?” Shawna tipped her head to one side, her lips screwed together and her eyes squinted. Ralph's face immediately paled and somehow also turned green, so she figured she better wrap it up before he vomited on her converse sneakers “Poltergeists. You should get a hotel for a few days while we sort this out. We don't want you to be collateral. These spirits have taken enough.” Shawna rested a hand on Ralph's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Yes, Mr. Dexter, although may I suggest…”

“The Marriot in town?” Shawna said, her voice raised to cut Gus off before he could finish the traiterous sentence. “It's quite lovely. Now go!” She said, sweeping her arms forward. “I can already feel the spirits closing in? Oh, and they are angry!” She said, whipping herself around as she cried out in various squeaks.

She didn't think she had ever seen someone out the door so fast.

“Why'd you do that?” Gus asked. “Nevermind, lets go.”

“Are you kidding me? We're staying here. I got him out cause this place is totally nice! He has a pool!” She said excitedly. “That and my apartment doesn't have AC and I'm sweating like a pig in there.”

“I'm not staying in a haunted house! And even if this isn't haunted, somebody left that not so nice calling card, and I'm not going to be sleeping when they come for round two!”

“Don't be such a scaredy cat! You know I was...oh wait, hold on.” She was abruptly interrupted by the buzzing of her phone against her legs, and upon seeing the caller ID, she couldn't help but grin impishly. “Jules! What can I do for you? Wait!--I'm sensing Lassie's cranky. Well, more so than usual. I'm getting something. Hold on--I'm getting a stamp. You guys have any letters you're sending? No? Wait--no. Not a stamp. A stamp im--imprint, yes! No, wait. Impress! Lassie needs to impress someone? I'm getting two letters. T...O. TO? Of course, training officer! Well, that son of a gun. Thank you Jules, but it's the spirits that do all the work. Don't worry, I'll stop by and see if I can't divine something. Okay, love you, bye.” 

“How did you know all that?” Gus asked, even before Shawna could properly put her phone in her pocket.

“Yeah, I checked Lassie's messages.”

“You did what? Shawna, you can't just steal a cop's phone “

“Well, I did, and now he'll never know about it. And it's just more efficient. Now don't be a sourpuss. You get your wish. We're leaving the haunted mansion,” she said, waving her arms toward him and speaking in a deep, ghoulish voice.

“That's not funny. We have to solve the case.”

“And we will! Jules is just cashing in a favor. Come on, happy Lassie, happy life?”

“Lassiter doesn't want you at the crime scene.”

“I can't hear you over all that negativity,” she said, while simultaneously jangling the keys to the blueberry.

“Wait, how did you get those? Shawna! Wait!” Gus said, his voice growing higher in pitch as he ran out after her, and landed where he would always inevitably be--in the passenger's seat, by Shawna's side, on the way to the crime scene.


	2. Murder is just a big headache

It started the way it always did--a light pressure in the back of her head until it built and built and became an overwhelming explosion of pain. Her lips were tightly pressed together, her nose scrunched, her knuckles white, and her eyes squinting, trying to keep the blare of the sun from entering her head in an explosion of white heat. 

“Shawna? Shawna?” Gus's voice rose as he became more concerned, and even though he meant well, his voice just seemed to pierce into her brain, and caused her to wince. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” she replied quietly, her cryptic answer subtly pushing forward a sublimial message.

Not now. Personally, she preferred not ever.

“Do you need me to drive?”

“Nah, it's just a block up, anyway.”

Wordlessly, Gus reached into the glove compartment, where the trusty extra strength tylenol pills were stowed away. Shawna forced a half smile as she took them, taking them with a swig of water from the bottle that had been religiously kept in the cupholder since she had gagged on the chalky pills. Nothing more was said until Shawna parked the car by the curb, hopping out of the vehicle and into the swirling action of beat cops, detectives, and forensics.

“Buzz, looking sharp!” Shawna said, clicking her tongue at him, which may have come out as more of a wince. The pain in her head was just compounded by the action, until it was a steady hammer thumping down. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

“Thanks. Hey Shawna, you feeling okay?”

“Well, I am a little off. It's the spirits up there, doing their thing, having a party,” she said, swirling her hand for evidence.

“Oh. Is that going to affect--”

“Nah, don't worry about it. I got this,” Shawna said, forcing a winning smile and skipping towards the heart of the crime scene.

It was a homocide (obviously). The kitchen was smeared with blood, red covering the refrigrator, the table, the floor, the counter, the walls--an extremely vicious and gross struggle.

“Wait for it…” Shawna had barely gotten the words out before Gus was running out of the kitchen screaming.

Admittedly, she could really go for some Vicks. The smell, compounded with her headache made her want to vomit.

“The hell is going on--oh for the love of all things holy, what is Spencer doing here?” 

Shawna grit her teeth, not because she found him particularly annoying but because everything was just too loud...but who was she if she couldn't fake it?

She closed her eyes and stretched her hands out, wiggling her fingers. “I'm sensing something!” she yelled, even if it did make her lurch forward. “Wait, hold on--” She planted her hand on Lassiter's face, gently drumming her fingers. “Nope. Blocked.”

Lassie pried her fingers off, scowling--yet somehow, when he looked at her, he softened. 

Well, that was uncomfortable.

“Spencer, are you doing okay?”

Oh, right. But before she could properly respond, a lumbering, overweight, white haired approximately sixty-five year old man was making a beeline for her. “Detective Lassiter, who is this?”

“Ah, you must be Lassie's old TO. You did good,” she said, laying her hand on his forearm. It was basic deductive reasoning--she knew the voice, and he was the only one on the scene she didn't know. He still looked stunned, for a second. “Jacob Spears, isn't it?”

“Did Lassiter…”

“Oh no, Lassie here didn't tell me anything. I'm Shawna Spencer, SBPD's head psychic detective.”

“Head detective? I thought that was your gig?” He said, an eyebrow raised at Lassiter.

“She's a private consultant,” he growled. 

“Wait, Shawna Spencer. You're in the papers, right? You've got a damn good track record.”

Shawna would have beamed, but just the stretching of her lips upward hurt. “You're too kind. I'm only a conduit. Lassie here is the one who has to do everything manually,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Honestly, it's just an honor watching him from afar.”

The look Lassiter gave her was quite clearly one of total suspicion, and at that, Shawna did force a smile. Just for him. Who was she without a plan after all?

“From afar? Well why don't you hang around now? It'll be fun to see your process.”

“Oh could I? It's my dream to work with him.”

“Spencer, a word?” Lassiter said between gritted teeth, clutching onto her shoulders, and for once, actually steering her where he wanted her to be.

“What are you doing?” He hissed. She scrunched her nose, her own teeth gritted because of pain.

“I don't know what you mean, Lassie-boy,” Shawna replied easily--or at least made it sound that way.

“You know perfectly well--seriously, is something wrong with you? Well. More so than usual.”

“Didn't know you cared, sweetheart,” she said, her voice suddenly taking on the properties of a 1930s gangster.

“You know what, screw that. Just stay out of my way.”

“Is that any way to talk to your old TO's new best friend?” 

The death glare he shot her should have been enough to send anyone cowering, but Shawna just grinned, and wiggled her fingers in some semblance of a wave.

Now, back to what was important. The crime scene.

But even while Shawna was beginning to make deductions--bloodless punctures wounds, angled downward, then direct, body facing upward, bruised, hands cut--Detective Juliet O'Hara was clutching her arm.

“Jules!” Shawna grinned, spinning around to face her. “So glad you called.”

“Right, sorry about that, I think I jumped the gun,” Juliet replied awkwardly, her right hand scratching the back of her neck. “I was just so worried with Carlton since his old TO is visiting and--he just really needs to impress him. At least he thinks he does. Men,” she said, grumbling the word under her breath. “It looks like a theft gone wrong. We have the murder weapon, and the wife has catalogued what went missing.”

“She was out of town?”

“Right. Anyway, we got positive fingerprints on the weapon, and it looks like we have our guy. I just thought, maybe you could check, to be sure? And do you think we can keep this between us?”

“For you, my butterfly?” Shawna crooned. “Anything.” Her headache had lulled to just a consistent ache, but it was enough so she wasn't wincing at every word.

But somehow, ever observant, good old Jules now. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Shawna said, batting the question away. “You got the file?”

“Oh, right. Here,” Juliet said, pressing the manila folder in Shawna's hand. “Call me if you get anything.”

Shawna smiled tightly, already knowing they were all wrong. Dang it.

Gus swaggered back into the room, obviously refusing to look at the body, although he was clearly still green at the gills. “Juliet? I just stepped out to take a call--”

“Wait! I'm seeing something!” Shawna's slightly raised voice drew some attention along with her flailing arms, which were slowly lowered. “I'm seeing, ugh--” her hand once again shot up way above her head, bouncing on her toes to gain height. Than, she quickly lowered, her palm landing on Gus's eyes. “It wasn't Gus.”

Juliet's face fell, but she only nodded her head. “We already know that.”

“Wait! Hold on! I see him--an outline. He's tall. Male, mid 30s or 40s.”

“Wait, that can't be right. Our suspect is a twenty year old.”

The sound of Lassiter's heavy footsteps were unmistakeable, and Shawna braced herself for the yelling that was going to awaken her now dying headache.

“Don't tell me your listening to the one woman circus?”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment,” Shawna said, whi's dazzling smile earned her only an eyeroll. Surprisingly, Lassiter was holding back.

“Is she doing something?” The gravelly voice of Jacob Spears was close behind, and seeing how she wasn't keeping this under wraps, she inhaled dramatically.

“I see him! Oh, I see him, and he is angry!” She cried out, suddenly lunging towards Lassiter, her hands entangled in his dress shirt. Before Lassiter could pry her off, she was whirled around, pressing herself against him and grabbing onto his arms to manually circle around her own neck. “Oh, and he likes it!” Lassiter's hand remained slack, his thumb resting on her collarbone and his fingers resting behind her neck. Was he...surprised? 

Good. She could still shock Lassie. For some reason, that excited her. “This wasn't an accident. I can see him--” she stepped forward, eyes stretched forward as if reaching for an apparition. “Male, mid 30s to early 40s, strong, well built, not his first kill, overkill--” when her tone began to fall too robotic, Gus elbowed her ribs, shooting her a death glare. “Dude!”

“Well that doesn't match your suspect,” Jacob said, scratching his head. 

“He…” Lassie began, only to be cut off by Shawna

“It was Lassie. His spirit, it's guiding me…”

“Bull, Spencer…”

“Bull? That's no way to gain her undying love and affection--old sport,” she said, somehow channeling Di Caprio in Gatsby. “Sorry, I was channeling him...well, the inner him,” she said, smiling as she rested a hand on his heart.

That made him push her off to the side. “Spencer, we have our guy. We have DNA evidence that places him at the scene and on the murder weapon. We have motive and means. The case is almost as good as closed so if you could please just let the real police work--”

“Well hold on Lassiter. I taught you better than to let a lead go.”

If Lassiter clenched his teeth any tighter, Shawna was pretty positive they would break off. “Of course, sir,” he somehow forced out.

“Good man. So glad to finally meet you, and thanks for sneaking me in Lassiter. Man, I've missed this!” He said, grinning as he walked away.

“I don't believe this,” Lassiter said, mouth agape. 

“That I could possibly be this amazing?”

Lassiter glared at her, to which she just smiled. “Back in the day, he would have thrown you out with his own bare hands.”

“Maybe it was all the assault charges,” Gus said.

“And dragging people out charges,” Shawna added impishly.

“That's battery.”

“I've heard it both ways.”

“Oh, just shut up!” Lassiter growled. “And get out.”

“We were just on our way out. I've done enough sensing. Come along, Gus. We have crimes to solve,” Shawna said, gripping onto Gus's arm. 

“Thank God,” Gus said under his breath when they were out of earshot.

“Did you really throw up?”

“You know I have a weak stomach!”

“Dude, really?” Shawna said, even though she was grinning. 

“Come on Shawna. We're going back to Ralph Dexters house.”

“Can we stop at that food truck on the way? The one with the tiny burritos?”

“We have food!”

“But not food for hamsters. Or tiny burritos. Can we also pick up a hamster so we can film him eating the burritos?”

Gus only rolled his eyes as he jumped into the driver's seat, and Shawna grinned right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my lovelies! If you like this story, be sure to leave kudos and tell me what you think by commenting! It inspires me to keep going :)


	3. Six Feet Under(neath)

Rather than going straight to Ralph Dexter’s house, Shawna and Gus swung by the office in order to do some digging, which Gus insisted they couldn’t do at Dexter’s because the spirits could be watching. 

The Psych office was an absolute mess, the trash was just about overflowing, and Shawna's desk was littered with candy wrappers and empty envelopes and the occasional article on Santa Barbara's famed “psychic” detective. Gus's desk was markedly cleaner, but he hadn't yet told her the place was a pig sty, so she figured they were okay.

Instead, he just plopped down the basket of tiny burritos (he had nixed the hamster) and tossed one to Shawna.

“You haven't been sleeping again.”

It wasn't a question, and Shawna rolled her eyes in response. “Just been a little sleepless.”

“Have you told your therapist?”

“Gus, I haven't seen a therapist in over six months,” she said, which sounded worse when she tucked her feet in and started spinning in her chair. “I'm not crazy.”

“Yes you are,” Gus grumbled. “And you don't have to be crazy to see a therapist. You know I still see Debbie.”

“Yeah, but that's because Debbie's hot,” Shawna smirked.

“You know that's right.”

Shawna hummed in appreciation, finally stilling herself to flip open her laptop. “Okay, so their suspect is Thomas Washington. Twenty-two, 5’9 has a record of petty theft, some vandalism--”

“So he has a record.”

“Yeah, but not murder.”

“So? It was a robbery gone bad.”

“See that doesn't make sense. First,” she said, standing up over Gus, “the victim was 6 feet..”

“Shawna, you're not using me as a stand in for the murder victim,” Gus said, straightening his shirt as he stood up.

“Oh come on! I just need a body to demonstrate!” Shawna whined.

“Use your own dang body!”

“But I can't just dramatically stab myself!” 

Gus wrinkled his nose, but still plopped back down on the seat with a huff. Shawna grinned in return. “Thank you. Now, the stab wounds were angled downward, so the knife from above,” she said, raising her hand and dramatically pressing her fist to Gus's chest. “Which means--” 

“The murderer was taller than the victim!” Based on Gus's smile alone, one would think he had come to the realization all on his own, and there was no way Shawna was correcting him. 

“Right. What else doesn't make sense is how vicious the stab wounds were. There was way too much overkill for it not to be planned. He was angry, or passionate about something. Plus, at least six wounds were post mortem.”

It was as if a light went off on Gus's head, and he stood with his mouth agape. “There was no blood from those wounds!”

“Surprised you caught that before you ran out screaming.”

“You know I have a weak stomach!” 

Shawna just laughed, settling herself on back on the desk. “So it wasn't Lassie's suspect.”

“Maybe he just has anger issues. He got mad when he was interrupted.”

“Except he has no violent record. No assault, no fist fights on the playground--nothing. That would be one heck of an escalation. I'm not buying it.”

“And the description you gave? You could just pick that up from ten minutes at the crime scene?”

“No,” Shawna said, grinning cheekily. “Not technically. But rules were made to be broken, Gus. Now what do you say we go bother Lassie?”

“That's the exact opposite of whaf Juliet wants you to do.”

“But it's just so fun,” Shawna laughed. “Besides, I need to talk to the suspect who is not the unsub. Unless--you don't want to.” The last sentence was spoken cautiously, the farthest possible tone from a challenge. She meant it, but despite Gus’s perceptiveness, he didn’t pick up on the underlying meaning.

“Of course I don't--”

“I mean the unsub's kills are messy, and he’s angry. Plus he was smart enough and experienced enough to pin it on the kid. He's going to kill again. Maybe you should sit this one put,” Shawna said, cutting him off.

“Are you sitting this one out?”

“No. I can't,” She replied, with no other explanation. He was her best friend. He already knew.

“Yoh haven't been sleeping again. Maybe it would be better…

“I can't.”

Gus rolled his eyes, groaning as he forced himself up, balling his trash up and throwing it overhand into the basket over the trash can.

“He shoots, he scores!” Shawna cheered, jumping on her desk and pumping her fist.

Gus,still grinning, just said, “Okay, we can go bother Lassie now.”


	4. The Lassiter Conundrum

A murder as gruesome as Adam Beckett was bound to kick up the SPBD in a frenzy, even if they were confident that they had the perp in custody. They didn't, but Shawna had to have a big reveal for them. 

 

In the mean time, Lassie.

 

The grumpy detective was shifting through files, probably doing his classic move and letting poor Tommy Washington stew before continuing with interrogation. Jacob Spears wasn't in sight,  but Lassiter didn't look any more relaxed--he looked so tight he might snap, his lips in a firm line. But that tension seemed to make him seem even more in power, and everyone, no matter their position, found themselves snapping to do whatever it was the electric blue eyed man wanted them to do.

 

Everyone except Shawna.

 

Over the months that turned to years, Lassiter had developed what Shawna affectionately called the “psychic psychic connection.” It had nothing to do with any psychic connection, but he couldn't deny that he  _ knew  _ when she was in his vicinity. He told himself it was a perception developed by necessity in order to be a successful detective, but he knew it wasn't that simple.

 

That much was apparent by the mixed feelings he had as soon as he was aware of her presence.

 

He knew ten seconds before SPBD's psychic detective was calling out his name--or rather, the name only she and Mr. Gustor used. “Lassie! You got rid of the old ball and chain!” She had the goofiest grin on her face, but darn it all if she still didn't look like a vision wrapped in flannel. 

 

That should  _ not _ be possible.

 

“What do you want, Spencer?” He grumbled, scowling as he pushed the paperwork to the side, which Shawna took as an invitation to perch herself on his desk.

 

“You need to keep looking for Adam Beckett's murderer.”

 

“I already told you, Spencer, we have an airtight case against this guy. We have the killer. Do us all a favor and just  _ go home _ .”

 

“No can do, Lassie buddy.” She paused, her legs swinging and her heels tapping the side of his desk.

 

“If you aren't leaving, can you at least get off my desk?”

 

She smiled dopily at him, and darn it all if it wasn't somehow adorable.

 

She leaned back, her hands pressed behind her and her stomach eye level with poor Lassiter. “Tommy didn't do it.”

 

“I'm not letting go of a perp because the ghost of Christmas past told you he was innocent.”

 

“It was actually the Ghost of Christmas Future, but that was great! It's your psychic connection with your favorite psychic,” Shawna replied, waggling her eyebrows.

 

“Go home, Spencer,”  He replied.

 

“Okay, look,” She said, swiveling so both legs were tucked underneath her, sitting squarely on his desk. He leaned back, cradling the back of his head with his interlocked hands.  _ This  _ ought to be good. “It was too messy to be a robbery gone wrong.”

 

“How exactly do you  _ think _ it would look?”

 

“For starters, like Tommy Washington sustained more than a run in with a bush.”

 

Lassiter stayed quiet, his hands hovering over a file. “He was stronger.”

 

“He was smaller and--” she raised her left hand to her head, although mercifully forewent the fanfare. “The killer was taller than Adam Beckett.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

_ The angle of the wounds.  _ But she couldn't say that, so instead she just said, “The spirits.”

 

Behind her, she heard the door to Chief Vick's office open and shut, and the telltale click of heels. “Miss Spencer, my office?”

 

“Gotta run Lassie. Hopefully I don't get detention,” she said, swiveling off the table and swaggering in to the Chief's office.

 

And darn it all if Lassiter didn't smile.

  
  


“Have a seat Miss Spencer,” Chief Vick, even as Shawna took the liberty to do just that. “O'Hara tells me you gave a description of the perpetrator at the scene.”

 

“Right.”

 

“The case against Thomas Washington is strong.”

 

“I know,” Shawna admitted, her eyebrows knitted together. “He didn't do it. I'm sensing--the wounds, something about the wounds--” she lifted her hands up, less theatrically than usual. “They came from  _ above.” _

 

“That's what Woody confirmed. Alright, Miss Spencer you're hired.”

 

“Good doing business with you,” Shawna winked. “Gus! We're on the case!” She whooped, linking arms with her best friend who couldn't help but grin like an idiot too. Shawna, among many other things, was contagious.


	5. The Young and the Widowed

“What exactly am I looking for?”

 

“Violent murders--lots of overkill. He--”

 

“Or she.”

 

“It's a he,” Shawna said from her position sprawled out on the couch, a wet washcloth on her forehead. It was Gus who was meticulously typing away, using his one week computer camp experience as his guide. “We need to look for people with a history of violent crimes. Also, what can we pull up for unsolved murders? I have a feeling this guy's been around.”

 

“Shawna, I can't just click a button and get all of the PD's records!”

 

“Garcia could.”

 

“You know damn well Garcia had the FBI database she could get into! I have Google!”

 

Shawna smirked in response, tossing aside the washcloth carelessly. “Well, you do that, I'm going to talk to the wife.”

 

“Not without me you're not “

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“You aren't going over with your psychic shenanigans to a widow in mourning.”

 

“Shenanigans--oh my word, you think she's hot.” There was almost a hint of glee in her voice, her eyes lighting up with mirth.

 

“Her husband just died! Have some respect!”

 

“I'm not the one who's been ogling his wife,” Shawna laughed, “Come on dude, if you want to go, we need to get a move on.”

 

“Okay, but I'm only going to make sure this is all handled sensitively.”

 

“Sensitively! I am the Queen of Sensitivity!” She replied, grinning as she tried to grab for the keys.

 

“Not this time, Shawna. And last time we interviewed someone, you ate all of their cookies.”

 

“They offered the plate! Didn't anyone tell you it's rude not to finish your food?”

 

“Not when your interviewing the sister of a murder victim who just happened to have a plate of cookies!”

 

Predictably, the childish bickering continued all the way to the car, where Gus adamantly maintained he was going to be the driver.

 

The former Adam Beckett's house house looked completely different when it wasn't surrounded by crime scene tape. The eerie shadow that seemed to have cast itself on the house coinciding with the gory murder would no doubt stain the house forever, even if its yellow exterior did seem cheery in the daylight. Everything about the case held a familiarity for Shawna that didn't usually come with SBPD cases. Which tended to seem to be more like PG-13 Scooby Doo than Law and Order. Still, she grinned cheekily at Gus before she walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

 

The floor creaked behind the door, the tell tale sign of a small woman rising on her toes to peer through the peephole. She was nervous--as anyone would be in her position. (As Shawna should be, and maybe she was, but she refused to dwell). “Mrs. Beckett, I'm Shawna Spencer, and this is my partner, Burton Guster,” she said, his name leaving a sour taste in her mouth as she couldn't quite get out some horrendous nickname. “I'm a psychic derective with the Santa Barbara Police Department.”

 

The door was timidly opened, revealing a tiny blonde woman. Her wedding ring was slightly askew, a tell tale sign of griefully slipping the ring on and off, as if she couldn't quite decide what it was she ought to do. “Okay, you can come in,” she acquiesced, opening the door a little wider. “I have to admit, I've been feeling a bit more--spiritual,” she said, her voice breaking off at the end.

 

“We're so sorry for your loss. I just have a few questions. I promise to make this painless,” Shawna said. There was something rigid in her voice, her eyebrow quirked upward. 

 

“Mrs. Beckett, is there anyone who would want to hurt your husband?” Gus asked, as he brushed his sneakers on the mat.

 

“No, no one,” Malia Beckett replied anxiously. She looked to be on the verge of crying, annd gingerly, Shawna placed a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, I don't understand any of this,” she said, her voice trembling as she forced herself to speak. “I don't know why anyone would do this. Wasn't it--robbery gone wrong, right? God, I don't know why he wouldn't just give them what they wanted!” The woman fell apart in sobs, and Shawna engulfed the woman in a hug. 

 

“I know. I'm sorry,” Shawna whispered. “We just need to cover our bases. Can you tell us what circles he ran in?”

 

“I don't--I mean, he belonged to a country club. He had golf buddies. He's a software engineer.”

 

Shawna was only half listening, taken in by her environment. The wall was covered in family photos, from baby pictures to graduation portraits. The pictures showed three kids, and another man who showed up in various stages of the children's lives--but was markedly not present when the children seemed to hit teenaged years, no longer in the background of group photos at reunions and birthday parties. “Mrs. Beckett,” she said, rushed, “I'm sensing something. Someone--a man--he was part of the family, in some sense, but something happened. He's not around anymore.”

 

Malia's eyes widened, her lips forming a perfect O. “Danny! I mean, Daniel Heel,” she replied. “He was Adam's best friend--they had a falling out. But he--he couldn't have done it!”

 

“Okay,” Shawna said, slightly smiling comfortingly. “Thank you. We have some leads,” she said, giving one last hug to the grieving woman before leaving.

 

_ That  _ was news to Gus. As soon as the car door had shut, he was swiveling to face Shawna. “Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Shawna replies, if not a little tightly.

 

“You didn't do your--you know--”

 

“I couldn't,” Shawna replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Too familiar. Anyway, we need to check out Daniel Heel. But first,”she said, forcing a grin as she patted Gus's chest, “back to those PD records."


	6. Body #2

The end of the day found Shawna back at Ralph Dexter's house, floating lazily in his pool with the one piece suit she had conveniently had. Every part of her felt relaxed as she closed her eyes.

Gus, however, was a different story.

He paced back and forth on the pool deck like a caged tiger, his hands shoves in his pockets. “We don't even have a plan, Shawna! You couldn't have at least gotten a gun from your dad?”

“Oh, stop it,” Shawna said, clicking her tongue. “They haven't done anything but vandalism.”

“And breaking and entering! Oh, and you know, threatening physical harm,” Gus shot back, his nose scrunched. “That's it, I'm leaving.”

“Wait, hold on.” Shawna swam over to the deck, wriggling herself up so the front of her thighs rested on the lip of the pool. “Listen, this guy's MO is planting fear. He could have assaulted Ralphie when he entered the house, but he didn't. He's been staking this place out, which is how he got in cleanly. Which mean he'll know Ralph Dexter is gone. Everything he's done has been minor, he won't escalate to violence if Ralph isn't even home.”

“You're sure?” Gus barely relaxed, still shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Pretty sure. Ooh, that's my phone!” The ringing of her phone was somewhat jarring, and Gus noticeably jumped. “Quick, hand it to me!”

“It's Lassiter,” Gus said, his nose scrunched up in confusion. “When does Lasssiter call?”

“When he wants to have a sleepover. You think he can bring horror movies?”

“Shawna!” Gus admonished, while still handing her the phone.

“Lassie lover!” Shawna gushed as soon as she accepted the call. “We were just talking about you. Want to come over? We're going to read palms and play with a Ouija Board later!”

Even Lassiter could hear Gus from the other end of the line, complaining, “You know, I don't mess with Ouija boards, Shawna!”

“Okay, Spencer, against my better judgment, Chief Vick wants you in on this. There's been a second murder.”

“Who was the victim?”

“Right now it's a John Doe.”

“Where's the crime scene?”

“No!” Lassiters emphatic answer was meant with the muffled voice of Jacob Spears, which caused Lassiter's tone to become more hushed. “No. Look, I'll bring what we've got to you.”

“Spears got you down?” Shawna crooned.

“Spencer, if you're right…”

“Did you just admit I might be right? Quick Gus, get a recorder! Could you just repeat that for me?”

“Quit playing, Spencer,” Lassiter growled. “If you're right, we have a serious killer.”

“That's why I need to go to the scene. See you soon.”

“Shawna, no!” The use of her first name was slightly jarring, even to Lassiter, for whom the name had just slipped out without any true forethought. There was something about the thinly veiled anxiety in his voice that gave her pause, and she tilted her head to one side. 

“Lassie, are you worried about me?”

“I’m worried about the integrity of this investigation. I don’t need you licking the bodies,” Lassiter snapped, but Shawna was still grinning like an idiot. 

“I’ll be fine! Okay. Bye, Lassie, love you!” She said, miming a kiss into the phone, much to Lassiter’s chagrin.

“You’re bringing Lassiter here?” Gus said, his arms slightly raised in his exasperation. “Aren’t you getting out of the pool?”

“Aren’t you coming in? Come on Gus, it’s like swimming in a big bath tub! Like the bath tub in the sky!”

“I’m not going swimming.” 

“That’s racist.”

“Shawna, I will hit you!” 

Shawna grinned even wider, winking saliciously at him and raising her voice in pitch to imitate some, much more feminine, woman. “Well you’ll have to catch me first.”Still wearing that same grin, she jumped out of the pool and grabbed on to some cloth shorts. Her bathing suit was basically a tank top, right?

“Gus, I'm going out for donuts!”

“There's no way you're leaving me in a haunted house!”

“Bye, love you!” Shawna grinned as she grabbed the keys, speeding away just as Gus had slammed open the front door.

Luckily, all it took was switching on her police scanner to get an address. Or an approximate address--specifically an alleyway in one of the shadier parts of town.

The alleyway was small, but it was still able to fit the myriad of cops and forensics that needed to be stuffed inside. Unfortunately, it also meant that Shawna didn't have a lot of time before Lassiter kicked her out.

Buzz was stationed at the front, which meant Shawna would have to get creative. Luckily, that wouldn't be a problem.

“Buzz, my man! Just who I wanted to see!”

“Shawna!” He smiled broadly, and Shawna affectionately thought that only his smile could brighten up a crime scene. “I heard Chief Vick hired you. Listen, Detective Lassiter--”

“Spencer!” It was almost disappointing when she heard the voice if Jacob Spears, since it just made entering too easy. “Good to see you--are you wearing a bathing suit?”

“Right, yes. The spirits are like electricity; water makes an excellent conductor. It's why I try to be wet all the time, to maximize my psychic abilities. Now lets go see what the spirits say about Mr.John Doe.”

The body stank--and not because of the trash in the dumpster John Does had been stuffed in. Just the smell alone told Shawna the first major fact of the case. The body was old. 

What she wouldn't give for some Vicks. Combined with lack of sleep, the awful smell made her want to vomit.

“So, this one was murdered before Beckett?”

“Right,” Spears said, clearly ready to jump in command as if he had never retired. Shawna could make that work for her. 

She padded over to the body, and immediately noticed the multiple, vicious stab wounds. Due to the time of death and state of the corpse, it was harder for her to pick out post versus anti mortem wounds, but she was willing to bet money that some of the wounds were post mortem.

“So? Can you psychic up a name or something?”

Adam Beckett was meant to be found. He was left in his home, with a wife that would find him.

Then what did it mean that the next body was stashed?

Her mind ran through the possibilities in seconds, and she tilted her head to one side. “I'm divining something.” She put one hand to the side of her head, her eyes squeezed shut. “He was attacked outside of his home. No one close enough to be too concerned about his absence. I think he--” her brain ran over the details, the shabby clothing molded to his skin, the tan, ragged hair, “He's homeless. Beckett was meant to be found. He wasn't--necessarily. Other than that, the spirits are quiet for now.”

“Okay. Wow. Hey, Lassiter!”

Time’s up. 

The truth was, Lassiter had known Shawna was there, and as much as he wanted nothing more than to drive her off, he knew it wasn’t quite that simple. Somehow, she would find her way back to the scene while his back was closed, and he decided it was bes to get this over with. 

What he wasn’t prepared for was an extremely wet Shawna Spencer, dark hair still plastered to her skin, bathing suit clinging to her body and shorts barely reaching past the top of her thighs. 

“Lassie!” Shawna said, grinning at him and waving her hand. “I came as soon as you called!” 

“Spencer,” Lassiter said, taking a deep breath, “what are you wearing?”

“Uh, it’s a bathing suit. Lassie, do you know how to swim?” she asked skeptically. 

“Of course I know how to swim. Now, what could possibly possess you to think this was appropriate?”

“Well, he’s wearing rags, but you’re not talking to him.”

“He’s the murder victim!”

“And I’m a victim of his bad fashion statement.”

“Spencer, get out!” Lassiter said between gritted teeth, clutching onto Shawna’s bare shoulders and steering her, mercifully, in the place he wanted her to go. Again. Now that was just downright unsettling. 

“So,” she said, turning around to face him, “you saw the overkill.”

“Yes, we all saw that. But I know what you’re thinking. This is a completely different dump site.”

“Good boy, Lassie!” She said, much like one would talk to the dog. “Which means?”

“I’m not playing your game, Spencer.”

“Wait, I’m sensing something! Lights, camera, action!” She held her arms out in front of her, clapping her hands together as if she was miming sharks. “Stage! Acting! Rehearsal!”

“So you’re saying this was just a rehearsal,” He replied, rolling his eyes. “You couldn’t just say that.”

“I don’t question the spirits, Lassie,” Shawna sniffed. “So yeah, this was practice victim before he got to real victim.” 

“Right, well, go tell Vick. I’m going to go on something a little more solid,” he said. “Go home?”

“Nah, I have a case. Good news is, I’ve got a sleepover with Gus. Bad news, the guy thinks his house is haunted.”

“So he’s dropping a couple grand on you because he watched too much Ghostbusters?”

“Quite possibly. Or it could be the Get Out written in blood on his wall.”

Lassiter’s mouth almost dropped. “Come again?”

“I thought I was very clear about what happened.”

“According to you, there’s someone who’s pretty close to being a serial killer on the loose, and you’re having playing house with Gus where some psycho splashed blood on the walls?”

“I mean, I for sure would have added some references from The Godfather, but I guess that’s the gist.”

“Alright. O’Hara, you got this?” He said, yelling at the pretty blonde detective. 

“Yeah, where are you going?” She replied, before smiling involuntarily at the sight of Shawna--who smiled right back, because if McNab was the only person who could light up a crime scene, than Jules was one of the only people who could make Shawna light up just by her presence. 

“Taking care of business. Come on,” he said to Shawna, rolling his eyes as he walked, his strides twice as long as Shawna’s. 

“Going where?” 

“I’m going back to your haunted house. I don’t feel like sending your body down to Woody any time soon.”

“Aw! You like me!” Shawna said--and darn it all if she didn’t smile in that adorably annoying, Shawna Spencer away. 

He rolled his eyes in return, but he knew that he did, in fact, have a soft spot for Shawna Spencer.


	7. Whose blood is this anyways

Gus was pacing up and down the center hall when Shawna came back, muttering something along the lines of, “I'm going to kill her.”

“Gus!” Shawna said, throwing him his keys. “You won't believe it. They were fresh out of donuts. But a cop did follow me home!” She said, grinning cheekily and pointing at Lassiter.

“You brought Lassie back?”

“Yeah, yeah, where's the blood?”

“Right, it's over here,” Gus replied, and Shawna couldn't help but roll her eyes at his eagerness to bring in the man in blue--or more accurately, guy with a gun, since it wasn't like Lassie and him were buddy-buddy. “It's animal blood.”

“You had it analyzed?”

“Shawna did.”

Shawna hummed noncommittally, causing both Gus and Lassiter to look at her full on. “You did have it analyzed?” Gus said.

“Yes, in that I sensed it.”

“Shawna, you didn't send it down to Woody!” Gus looked like he was about to bust a gas cap, and Shawna was starting to regret not lying.

“I'm pretty sure that would be an inappropriate use of SBPD resources.”

“So this is when you decide to draw the line?” Lassiter replied, rolling his eyes.

“Relax. The sample would be contaminated anyway.”

“A contaminated sample is better than no sample!” Gus hissed. “That's it, I'm getting out of here.”

“I'll call this in,” Lassie muttered, just as Shawna ripped the phone from his hand. “What the hell Spencer?”

“No! We don't need to bring anyone in on this. Besides, the house is clearly haunted, right Gus?”

“You know that's right.”

“And that's what we specialize in.”

“Shawna, I am not staying overnight in a house that has blood on the walls.”

“Fine then! I'll stay by myself!” She said, just as she slapped Lassiter's hand away from his cell phone.

“Spencer, if you don't give me my phone I will cuff you.”

“That's the sixth time I've heard that today,” she grinned. “No cops?” She asked hopefully.

“I am a cop,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

“I've heard it both ways.” Shawna replied easily. “Listen, hold on, Lassie, Lassie, Lassie…” she said, taking several steps backwards, quite quickly, while Lassiter continued making more grabs for his phone, which should have been much easier considering the fact that Lassiter stood a good five inches above Shawna. Shawna was, however pretty good at being a sneaky little thing. “He didn’t call the police. He called us, and as far as I’m concerned, this is a clear constituant violation.” 

“You mean constitutional violation,” Gus said, his arms folded and still refusing to look at her head on.

“Whatever. You came in the house without the owner’s permission. And I clearly cannot own a house.” 

“Yeah, no kidding. You don’t even have a real job,” Lassiter replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Kind of hurtful, but I’m willing to overlook that as long as you don’t involve anyone else,” She said, giving him her cheesiest smile. 

“Fine, but I’m staying. I wasn’t kidding about not wanting to have to send you down to Woody.” And just as Shawna’s smile was getting what Lassiter couldn’t help but think was too big for comfort, he added, “You know. Way too much paperwork.”

“Right,” Shawna said, winking at him. “Now Gus, you have to stay. We clearly need a chaperone.” 

“For the love of all things holy, Spencer,” Lassiter replied--albeit half-heartedly, because as much as Gus wasn’t his choice roommate, it was infinitely better than the alternative of being with Shawna alone. 

“Fine, but we’re putting Lassiter in front of the door,” Gus said.

“What if an intruder comes through the window?” Shawna said.

“Then we’ll put him in front of the window!”

“Then who’s going to be in front of the door?”

“I don’t know, Shawna!” 

“Ooh, I know! We’ll decapitate him and put each limb in front of an entrance! We can even give them all guns!”

“Okay, shut up kids,” Lassiter snarled. “What we’re going to do is secure all of the exits.”

“What about all of the portals to a different astral plane?” Shawna said, her arms folded in mock seriousness. “I would think those need to be secured.” 

“You’re making that paperwork seem better and better, Spencer.” 

“I live to serve,” Shawna said, saluting Lassiter. “Now, this place has three bedrooms, so we can sleep in seperate beds, or, we can take all of the pillows, having a giant pillow fort in the living room, and binge watch Netflix for the rest of the night.”

Lassiter didn’t say anything, just groaned as he walked up, presumably to familiarize himself with the layout, identify weaknesses in the perimeter and possible entrances and escape routes. 

“Okay, Gus, look, I’m sorry man, but we don’t have any time. Did you find anything?”

“Look, there are a few unsolved murders, but most of them have pretty solid suspects that they just couldn’t quite pin them down on. And then there are a lot of murders in gang areas, and some homeless people, but most of those just look like drug deals gone bad.” 

“Okay, right. Nearby?” 

“All up and down the coast,” Gus replied. “Does that help?”  
“I don’t know. But, we have a new case here, right?” She asked, playfully slapping his arm. 

“Shawna, you have to be out of your damn mind. You know the brother never makes it out of haunted houses.”

“Come on, it’s not haunted! Besides, we have Lassie!” 

“Oh good, trigger happy cop with a gun. That makes me feel better.”

“Fine, you go home. I’ll stay.” She knew she had pulled her trump card, and was already triumphantly grinning when Gus rolled his eyes. 

It had been an unspoken rule between them ever since they had taken their blood brother’s oath behind the school, armed with Shawna’s new pocket knife. When push came to shove, they would have each other’s back. 

“If something happens, I’m haunting you until the day you die.”

“Counting on it,” she replied cheekily, looping an arm around his shoulders. “Snacks?”

“He better have fruit snacks.”


	8. No rest for the wicked

For once, Shawna had Vicks. She had preemptively smeared it above her lips, the smell permeating the SUV and making her queasy. Better than the horror fest to come, though.

“Right, take a right!” She yelled, pointing down a side street.

“You sure about this, Spencer?” Simons yelled, even as he jerked the wheel. Shawna braced herself, her fingers gripping the door handle to keep from knocking into the blonde agent beside her.

“Yeah!” She was. She didn't know why, but it was like she was tied to the crime, like she knew where to go just on instinct.

There it was. The grey hunk of desolation that peeked out over the city suddenly seemed to take on a dimension of its own, and she scrunched her nose. She was ending this.

“Spencer!” Shawna had leaped out the door before Simons had even stopped the car, running to the door of the abandoned back up. “We need to wait for backup!”

“No time!” She yelled, not looking back as she reached for gun. Almost there.

“Really! Loose Cannon Lucy now!”

“Simons!” She trilled, smirking as she stopped short of the door, her gun drawn at ninety degrees. “I am always Loose Cannon Lucy.” She turned back to the door, and then kicked it in.

The smell. Even the Vicks wasn't enough to keep it out, the smell of blood and death and guts. “FBI!” She yelled, deepening her voice to almost a snarl. 

Simons was running in behind her, his own gun drawn. “Clear!”

She didn't know if it was she or him who yelled it, everything was fading together like a kaleidoscope of something Shawna didn't want to dwell in but had to.

Then she was moving again, down the back corridor. She started to feel light headed the closer she came to the epicenter, but she clenched her teeth and kept going. “Clear!”

Her mind was going into an overload. When did this get so hard? Footprints, hand prints, strip of cloth, indent in the floor, blood, paw prints? She followed it, drawn by the gruesome string of events, like death itself was pulling her closer to the crime scene. Maybe it was.

She knew, instinctively, went to brace. Two seconds before entering the cavernous main room, she knew she was going to find hell itself. Bodies strewn on the floor, the work of a madman. She kept her gun raised, ready. 

A conveyor belt suddenly buzzed to life, and she spared a glance to watch the array of body parts--trophies--whiz past. She kept going. “Stevens, come on man. Time's up. You know how this ends.”

A manic laugh, like they were in an R rated film dedicated to the Joker. “You should have come with back-up.”

Another conveyer belt buzzed to life. Black, black, black, Gus.

Finger, hand, ear, head.

Shawna was up and running before she properly knew what she was doing, her hand still clutched as if miming holding a gun, and she flung the bathroom door open seconds before vomiting into the porcelain toilet.

Ralph Dexter's porcelain toilet. 

“SPBD! Who's there?” Heavy footsteps outside, and she cursed the fact that she didn't have time to close the door. “Spencer?”

“Yeah, just me,” she said, her voice raspy. She couldn't quite garner the energy to lift her head from the toilet bowl, and she weakly flushed so she at least didn't have to stare at her own waste.

There was silence, and she heard the clang of metal against the counter. “You don't look so hot.”

“So you admit I look hot sometimes?”

“Maybe when you don't have vomit in your hair.”

“Damn it,” she hissed, and just looking at it made her spit up more waste. 

“Easy there, Spencer.” His voice took on a softer quality that sounded foreign to both of them. She heard some shuffling behind her, than the squeak of the water spicket followed by the whooshing of water. Then, Lassiter wordlessly handed her a wet washcloth.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth before giving the same treatment to her hair. “What time is it anyway?”

A beat, and the sound of cloth shifting as he looked at his watch. “1:30.”

Alright, so she got twenty minutes of shut eye. “Well, thanks for the help buddy, but I'm going to hop in the shower.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Something inside Shawna unraveled at the softness in his voice, which shouldn't have been there and she did not want to think about it or what it did to her.

“Well I don't anticipate a reenactment of Alfred Hitchcock's shower scene if that's what you mean.” She straightened, just in time to see the side smile flicker on Lassiter's lips. She returned it with a rueful smile of her own, and shakily stood up. “Listen, thanks for the help, but in five seconds I'm going to strip, so…”

“Oh, right.” He scrambled to his feet, his cheeks faintly pink, and Shawna smirked in spite of herself. “Well, you know. Yell if something happens.”

“Like some psycho with an ax peels back the curtain?”

“Yeah, like that.” 

True to her word, Shawna stripped right when the door clicked into place. She turned the water onto its hottest setting, and stepped into the scalding water. It burned, but it felt like what she needed.

She took the liberty of lathering herself with Ralph Dexter's body wash, even if it was for men. It felt good having something to scrub herself with, and she scrubbed herself raw. Somehow it was never enough though, and the image of Gus's head on a conveyor belt kept flashing through her mind.

Her skin was red by the time she stepped out of the shower, and the cool air was a welcomed respite. She cocooned herself in one of his fluffiest towels, and dropped her sweaty clothes in a plastic bag to deal with later. 

She couldn’t go back to sleep, not with the images still fresh in her mind. And she hadn’t quite thought ahead in the clothing department, so all she had was a pair of jeans she wasn’t keen on wearing to bed. So instead, she headed down to the kitchen to hopefully get some hot chocolate. What she wasn’t counting on was Lassiter beating her to it. 

Having already felt on edge due to the latest in her series of nightmares, she almost jumped out of her skin when she walked into the kitchen. “Oh my gosh!” She said breathlessly.

Lassiter also almost jumped out if his skin at seeing the towel clad psychic detective. “Spencer!” 

“Yeah, that's me.” Self consciously, she hiked her towel up a little higher, which was luckily luxuriously huge. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he replied, with absolutely no conviction. He was, however, pointedly not looking at her.

And it was while she was smugly smirking at this that she noticed two very important things. (1) The smudge she had left on the glass door when she came in from the pool was gone, and (2) it was definitely there when Gus had gone to bed. “Lassie, you wouldn't have happened to go on a late night cleaning frenzy?”

“No. What are you going on about?”

She smiled grimly. “Our intruder was here.”


	9. No Dip, Sherlock

“Ooh, I'm getting something!”

“Spencer, it is way too early for me to be able to deal with that,” Lassiter snapped. Okay, so Lassie wasn't a morning person. Or a 2 AM person, which Shawna supposed would more accurately depict their situation. But, at least the return of grumpy Lassie gave her something to occupy herself with which wasn't her dream or the way he looked at her when she was in distress. Both extremely dangerous lines of thinking.

“It's about the intruder,” Shawna said, barreling on much to Lassiter's chagrin. “I see a uniform…”

“Wait, hold on,” he said sternly, which only made Shawna want to roll her eyes. “Don't just accuse an officer with no evidence.”

“Relax. It's not _his_ uniform. I think it's his dad's. Or he’s OCD. It’s kind of fuzzy.”

“Oh.” Lassiter nodded his head, and then he bent down by the glass door. Gingerly, he opened it, and examined the catch itself. “Definitely some marking. Looks like it was carded.”

“Okay. I can do inventory around here.”

“Go back to sleep, Spencer. I don't want to deal with you sleep deprived.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I'm rarely not sleep deprived.”

A beat. In hindsight, that statement left too much open for investigation, but Shawna wasn't about to let Lassiter pry too much. “You haven't been sleeping.”

“Yeah,” she replied nonchalantly. “Doesn't that happen with those maniac illnesses?”

“Not that I'm going to disagree that you're a maniac, but don't you mean manic?”

“Yeah, that,” Shawna grinned, albeit somewhat forced.

“Alright, fine. We'll do inventory together.”

“We're like partners!”

“I would rather eat a bullet. Can you put some clothes on?”

Both sleuths got a little pink at the reminder, and Shawna sheepishly said, “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.” 

Still, she hadn't ruled out the possibility that at the end of this, she was going to be able to find prescription level pills and conk out so well she would be dreaming in pure black. So that left her jeans out of the question.

Which was fine, because Ralph Dexter's bathrobe was ridiculously fluffy. “Spencer, did you bring a bathrobe?”

“Don't be a ridiculous. That would be insanely unprofessional. This is Ralph's.”

“As in the owner? You stole his bathrobe?”

“First of all, I borrowed it, and second, he said to make myself at home!” She grinned, sticking her hands into the robe's pockets. She did have to tie quite tightly so it didn't hang loosely off her and expose too much, but still, comfortable. “Now let's go Sherlock this out, which makes me Benedict Cumberbatch and you Martin Freeman. Although, maybe you're more Rupert Graves?”

“Shut up Spencer,” Lassiter replied, blearily rubbing his eyes. Shawna just smiled, and playfully elbowed him.

“Come on, partner. I'm sensing he never made it upstairs. Probably was scared off by you yelling SPBD!” She deepened her voice to imitate him, jumping into a wide legged stance and comically stretching her hands forward like guns.

Unfortunately, he didn't take the bait. “Yeah, maybe you should try and sleep it off. I don't plan on cleaning up your vomit.”

“I'm not going to vomit,” she replied, somewhat harshly--there were too many secrets interlaced in the event that she had been planning on taking to the grave, even if it made her go crazy. Well, more crazy.

“Spencer--”

“I'm not sick. I just--had a vivid nightmare. It's fine.”

“Oh.” Lassiter cleared his throat, and Shawna awkwardly shifted her weight. “Did you--”

“No.” She didn't want to talk about, she didn't want to tell someone, and she didn't want a hug it out session. “Come on, Lestrade. Time's wasting.”

The result of the inventory was fairly inconclusive. Things were moved around, but nothing appeared to be gone. Which basically confirmed that she was right on one thing--the intruder wasn't ready to escalate to violence.

“Alright, well, good news is Gus is snoring like an elephant so he's not screaming like a little girl,” Shawna replied as she hopped up on the kitchen counter. 

“Yeah. Good news. Now are you going to let me call this in?”

“No,” she said, smiling impishly. “I'll keep watch.”

“No, I'll keep watch. Go to bed, Spencer.”

“Whatever you say. Night, Lassie,” she replied, wiggling her hips and blowing him a kiss. He grumbled something under his breath, but she couldn't help but grin at how pink his cheeks suddenly became. 

The result was that she tossed and turned for the better part of two hours. She may not have actually been a psychic, but her visions were vivid enough.

2:00 AM. She checked Gus for any trial drugs. Zip.

2:30 AM. She played angry birds to forget how Gus's body had looked in her nightmare.

3:00 AM. She began to wildly type notes in her phone, just fragmented, nonsensical ideas from her in order to abate increasingly growing self-loathing.

3:30 AM. Allow herself to become increasingly nihilistic.

She needed to get out. 

She stumbled out of bed, looking and feeling like hell, but maybe that could be excused given the ungodly hour. She clearly wasn't going to sleep, and laying in bed just gave her brain more time to mess with her--it was, in her mind, probably best not to sleep at all. Either way, she knew Lassiter would be making better use of any sleep time than she was. 

She hugged the bathrobe close as she made her way back downstairs. “Don't shoot Lassie, it's only me,” she said blearily.

“Spencer…” Lassiter said, both exasperated and exhausted.

“Listen, I'm apparently not sleeping so you might as well.”

“Sorry, Spencer, but I really don't trust you with my life,” he replied, and Shawna just smirked in return. 

“Just give me your gun. I’m a really good shot.”

“There is no way in hell I’m giving you my gun.”

“I’m like Annie Oakley!”

“No, you’re annoying. Go back to bed,” he said, starting to sound beyond tired.

“You know, that wasn’t half bad. Not great, but you know, you’re getting there,” Shawna said, stepping behind Lassie and resting her chin on his head whilst wrapping her arms around him, complete with a mischievous smile.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?” She said. 

“Get off me.” 

“See, Lassie, you’re so grumpy because you haven’t gotten sleep. Is that why you’re always so tense?”

“I like being tense,” He said, pushing her, albeit reluctantly, off of him. “Go to bed, Spencer.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s bordering on sexual harrassment,” Shawna said, hopping back on the counter, impish smile. 

“You know what, fine. _I’m_ going to bed. At this point, I might want someone to shoot me.” 

“That’s the spirit!” She said, grinning and giving him a thumb’s up. 

Of course, as soon as Lassie had left the room, she made a grab for Gus’s laptop, which she had already conveniently stolen from his room. The task ahead of her got her blood pumping, and gave her the distraction she had so desperately needed when she first started calling in tips to the SPBD.

Granted, she was no Penelope Garcia, but she _was_ a Shawna Spencer, and that hadn’t failed her before.

The hours passed quickly, and she became so enraptured in her work that she didn’t notice her fingers become stiff or the way her eyes were slightly watery. But, it all paid off by the time Gus came stumbling down the stairs for coffee. 

“Dude, I have a theory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how do we feel about shorter chapters? These babies can't seem to get past a few pages in this story line, but they should get longer later. Thanks for reading loves!


	10. Fruit Loops and 9 to 5's

Shawna had circled the table forty-three times before Lassiter came down. In the meantime, she had managed to make Gus almost vomit twice with her knack for describing crime scene down to every gory details. “Dude! Calm down! It was just a serrated knife!”

“That’s disgusting. Those things can pull out organs!”

“Don't be ridic--oh wait, no you're right, that guy totally had his guts pulled out.”

Sliding him a picture of the crime scene was what caused him to puke a third time.

It was, with Gus’s head in the trash can, that Lassiter walked in, his hair mussed. “What the heck?”

“Lassie!” Shawna grinned, clicking out of her collection of crime scene photos without looking down at her laptop. “Gus is just having sympathy period pains. He’s very empathetic. You wouldn’t happen to have any Midol on you, would you Lassie?”

Lassiter scowled, and Shawna gave him a thumb’s up while Gus righted himself. “Women like sensitive men,” he snapped, even before Lassiter could open his mouth. He shrugged his shoulder in response. 

“Three sugars two milk?” Shawna murmured, but Lassiter didn’t rise to the bait as he helped himself to the coffee Gus had started brewing. It was _still_ too early to deal with Shawna’s psychic shenanigans. 

“Are you idiots really going to stay here?” Lassiter said, or perhaps growled would be what more aptly describe his tone. 

“Of course we are,” Shawna replied, and Gus managed to nod his head. He slid in next to Shawna, and wordlessly grabbed her cup of coffee.

“Wait, Gus! You know I’d let you drink it, but come on. You were just puking!”  
He gave her a dirty look, and she smiled hopefully at him. “Shawna, you know darn well you’re the reason I had to puke. So it I want to drink your damn coffee, I’m going to drink your damn coffee.”

“Okay, listen kids, I have to go to an actual job,” Lassiter interjected, and Shawna pouted her lips. 

“What? Before we got to play Spin the Bottle?”

Lassiter’s cheeks turned bright pink, and Shawna grinned. Gus, on the other hand, was far more nonchalant. “That’s a white people game.”

“Well, that’s fair,” Shawna said, tilting her head to one side. 

“Whatever!” Lassiter said, sounding on the verge of explosion. “Just--if the intruder comes back, call me.”

“Intruder? There was an intruder!” Gus said, his voice raising. “Shawna? Shawna!” 

“Technically, yes, but like, spiritually--”

“Shawna!”

“Okay, yes, there was someone here. But he didn’t do anything, so my psychic senses were right. Not violent.”

“Yet,” Lassiter said, and Shawna glared at him. “What?”

“Really? You had to go there?” she replied.

Lassiter only rolled his eyes, grumbling as he walked out of the house. 

“And then there were two,” Shawna said, before opening the laptop again. 

“We should have taken his gun.”

“Do you really want a gun? It just--it just seems like that would cramp our style.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So you really think all of those murders were dress rehearsals?”

“Maybe. Every one of those murders had little MO things that didn’t quite match up with gang violence, like they were trying to get it to fit in but needed something else,” Shawna replied, leaning forward with her chin in her hands.

“Shawna, this case is way too big. We need to focus on getting out of this house and not try and work two cases at the same time,” Gus replied, taking another sip of her coffee.

“What? You can’t just appreciate this place? It has a pool!” Shawna said, which gave way to a pout. “Come on Gus! My AC doesn’t work!” 

“Because you didn’t pay the electricity bill?”

“No, that was last time! I don’t know why it doesn’t work.”

“Have you gotten looked at?”

“No, Gus, you don’t repair ACs. It’s like lightbulbs, they’re for life,” Shawna scoffed.

“Yes, you do repair ACs. And lightbulbs aren’t for life. Is that why your apartment is always dark?” 

“Really? I thought that was mood lighting.”

“Dear god, please tell me you’re kidding,” Gus said, which was met with a signature mischievous smile from Shawna. 

“Fine,” she conceded, closing the laptop. “Let’s solve Mr. Dexter’s problem.”

“Okay. By the way, you can’t use my laptop. That’s a company computer!”

“Do you have anything that’s not owned by the man?” Shawna asked, clicking her tongue. 

Gus clicked his tongue right back at her, shutting his computer and grabbing it to return to his room. “So, what do we know about this place?”

“Well, what we know about Ralph Dexter is he’s a bachelor in his thirties, he’s a ladies’ man, and he hasn’t asked me out yet, so I would say it’s safe to say he’s a psychopath.”

Gus rolled his eyes, while Shawna just grinned back at him. “Psychopathy is a serious illness, Shawna. You shouldn’t be joking about it.”

“Ooh, but that’s where you’re wrong, kiddo,” Shawna said, shooting finger guns at him. “APA doesn’t recognize psychopathy as a disorder, so technically, not an illness.” She pasued, frowning. “Wait, have they recognized it? I haven’t kept up with them since DC. Or anyone. Have they even nailed down a definition for that thing?” 

“They _have_ a definition for _that thing_ ,” Gus said, shuffling through the cupboards to find food. “Dude, he doesn’t have fruit loops!” 

“What? That’s a crime!” Shawna said, her mouth hanging open as she walked over to Gus to find that there was, indeed, no fruit loops. “What is this?” 

“A damn shame,” Gus replied, shaking his head. 

“Well, you know what this means. You have to go to the grocery store.” 

“Why do I have to go?”

Shawna shrugged her shoulders, smiling as she held open her palm for him. “Fine, give me your keys.” 

“You know there’s no way you’re driving the blueberry. Fine, let’s go together.” 

“Gus, I don’t think carrying fruit loops is a two man job. Haven’t you been working out?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Gus muttered, but, figuring it was better to just go than get his fruit loops then waste time bickering, he just walked to the door, shoved on his shoes, and left Shawna alone. 

Shawna grinned in triumph, and slid onto the table, and then proceeded to snap open the laptop Gus had told her in no uncertain terms not to use just moments before. “You can come out now,” she called. “I know you’re here.” 

No one came out, and she just shrugged her shoulder, murmering to herself, “One day, someone’s actually going to be there, and it’s going to be _awesome._ ”


	11. Bonnie and Clyde

Shawna had shifted through bills, letters, and the trash. She had investigated the history of the house, which wasn’t long, as Ralph Dexter had bought it new. She had done a background check on Ralph Dexter, looked into who might have it out for him--and she came up empty. Which, according to Gus, only confirmed his theory. “I knew it, Shawna. They’re ghosts. Where’s the salt?”

“It’s not ghosts, Gus!” Shawna said, and even if her voice did have an undertone of exasperation, her lips were still turned upward in a half smile. “But, we are looking at two different guys.” 

“Two different guys?” 

“Yeah. I mean, one of them has a clean exit, the other one leaves marks on the door? Wipes off the hand print on the door that wasn’t even his? We’re probably looking at a dom/sub situation.” 

“Dom/sub?” Gus asked, his eyebrows knit together. 

“Dude,” Shawna said, rolling her eyes. “You’re thinking about Fifty Shades of Grey, aren’t you?” 

“I can’t help it. It’s become a cultural phenomenon. Do you know how many discussions on erectile dysfunction I’ve had that leads to that?” 

“Gross,” Shawna said, making a face. “And weird. I thought that franchise basically had the lonely housewife in her forties market cornered.” 

Gus only shrugged his shoulders in response. “Listen, I didn’t read it.” 

“Thank God for that,” Shawna replied, scoffing as she sat at the table. “Wait a minute--” she knit her eyebrows together again, and suddenly she was diving back into files. 

“What? What are you thinking?” Gus said, dragging a chair next to Shawna and peering at the computer. 

“Well, I’ve got two theories going right now, but one of them involves a connection. One of them also involves a Native American burial ground.” 

“You think this house is built on a burial ground?” Gus said, his eyebrows suddenly shooting up. 

“Yes, Ralph Dexter is making Frankenstein.” 

“Oh my gosh, Shawna, first of all, Frankenstein is the doctor, not the monster.” 

“I’ve heard it both ways.” 

“No you _haven’t_. Mary Shelley would be ashamed of you.” 

“Mary Shelley? Who’s that? Ooh, is _that_ the name of the scientist!” 

“Oh my god. Do you seriously have any theories?”  
“Yeah. This is a nonviolent case, which would be a weird case to have a dom/sub. And seriously, am I going to have to come up with a different name?” 

Gus clicked his tongue, but then he tilted his head to the side. “Well, maybe. How about Bonnie and Clyde?” 

“I can’t see a way that ends without it being sexist.” 

“Not if we make Clyde the subsurvient one.” 

“Good thinking. Alright, so Bonnie and Clyde are in this elaborate scheme. Bonnie has the expertise to come in and leave no trace she doesn’t want to. So what’s with this nonviolent thing?”

“You sound like you want someone to come and try and murder us,” Gus said, curling his lip. 

“Well, I don’t want to be Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween, but I will play out the closet scene,” Shawna grinned in response. “What I’m saying is maybe Bonnie is teaching Clyde through this one. Kind of like how my dad messed up my childhood by making me his cadet guinea pig.” 

“Dude, you need to let that go.” 

“I will _not_. He has problems.” 

“I mean, he probably could use therapy.” 

“See!” Shawna said, gesturing to him wildly. “Anyway, maybe this is a rehearsal too. But, Bonnie has experience, so we’re looking for someone who either is an experienced criminal or law enforcer or spy or--you know, uniformed guy,” she said, sniffing, rolling her eyes just recalling Lassiter’s previous aversion to her comments. 

“Shawna, you know you used to be one of those ‘uniforms’?” Gus said, using air quotes. “Seriously, you can’t run from that forever.” 

“I’m not running from it,” Shawna replied grumpily. “I still talk to the team all the time.” 

“I know, but it’s okay to acknowledge more than the relationships you built. You were an FBI agent, and you were a damn good one.” 

Shawna smiled at his assertion, and finally conceded, saying “You know that’s right.” 

“So what’s the plan?” 

“Pull an all nighter and see if Clyde shows up. What movie do we want to watch?”

“Die Hard?” 

“I think we should watch Heathers.” 

“Then why did you ask me?” 

“To make you feel included, Gus!” Shawna said, slinging an arm around her best friend’s shoulder. But yet there was something in her grin that wasn’t quite right, and Gus pulled Shawna to sit back down.

“That’s it. We’re talking about this.” 

“Talking about what?”

“About your PTSD.”

“But I’m not on my period!” 

“You know that means post traumatic stress disorder, Shawna,” Gus replied, clicking his tongue. It was true, she did know that. She had also been at the mandatory counseling session when she was diagnosed. “You aren’t going to therapy, you aren’t sleeping, and you’re having nightmares again.” 

Shawna remained quiet for a moment, a rarity for her. Gus wondered if maybe her talkativeness no longer had as much to do with her rambunctious personality as it was a stalling mechanism--a distraction from the thought he _knew_ still plagued her. Still plagued him, but it was different, and he knew it. He softened, laying a hand over Shawna’s. “Shawna, you know it wasn’t your fault.” 

Shawna shook her head, her eyes watering, because every time she thought about this, she couldn’t help but want to cry, no matter how much time had passed. Maybe, in the realm of life, not much time had passed at all. “You wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me, Gus. He only got you because of me.” 

“He got me because I was an easier target,” Gus replied. 

“Gus? Be honest. Would you have even gone to DC if it weren’t for me?” 

Gus sighed, his hands closing around Shawna’s. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. Look, I won’t lie and say that wasn’t the worst experience of my life--being trapped in that room, with a serial killer that sliced and diced? Worst day ever. But I always knew you would come. And you did. Shawna, you have to know you’re the hero.” 

“I put you in that position.” 

“You didn’t, and you need to stop thinking that.” Gus stopped, his jaw clenching. “Shawna, did you talk to your dad?” 

Shawna’s head whipped up, her eyes wide. “How did you know?” 

“Because I’m your best friend, and I know you. What did he say?” 

She sighed, laying her head on the table and cradling it in her arms. “He had this whole speech on how my actions had consequences,” she said bitterly, her voice muffled. “Told me it was my fault.” 

Gus stiffened, his upper lip curled. Often, he was the mediator between Shawna and her father. But this time? He wanted to punch the guy in the face. “Henry Spencer is an idiot, Shawna. Listen,” he said earnestly, “he just--he knows you surpassed him, right? He knows he can’t teach you anything anymore. You think differently than he does, and that scares him. Like Rossi said. And--and he was worried about you, and now he’s lashing out, and it’s _wrong_ , but Shawna, you have to know that he’s wrong about you.” Shawna mumbled something incoherent, and Gus groaned. “Come on, Shawna. You have no problem saying your dad is wrong in anything else. You can’t give me something here?” 

Shawna couldn’t help it. She smiled, just a little, even if the wound was still fresh and she _couldn’t_ bring herself to think that maybe it wasn’t her fault. “Come on,” Gus said, tugging her arm. “Let’s go get fruit loops, watch Heathers and wait for Bonnie and Clyde to show up. Any crimes we should be looking up while we’re at it?” 

“Yeah,” Shawna replied, standing up and wiping her eyes. “We should look for clean break ins in the area.” 

“Okay. You know, we should see the musical version of Heathers.” 

“You’re right, we should,” Shawna said. She still wasn’t alright, and Gus knew that, but this was enough for that one moment.


	12. Thorazine and More Bonnie

Heathers the musical left Gus and Shawna dancing on the kitchen table and harmonizing “Candy Store.”

“Welcome to my candy store!” Shawna belted out, twirling around and linking arms with Gus.

“Honey whatchu waiting for!” Gus sang back, jumping off the table so he could perform tap steps in his socks. It was, of course, significantly less impressive without tap shoes on, and he looked like a character in those old western movies when the villain would shoot at the hero's feet to make them “dance.” Still, not to be out done, Shawna pirouetted on the table, finishing with a high kick and a sassy grin.

“Dang girl, you still got it,” Gus said, completely out of breath.

“You know it.” Shawna, being far more composed, plopped herself on the side of the table. “I didn't take all those years of dance for nothing.”

“And you still give me a hard time for taking tap. Come on, son,” Gus said, clicking his tongue and turning his nose up.

“You know I think you're great,” she replied, pursing her lips and playfully rubbing the top of Gus's head, much like one would pet and speak to a dog.

Just as Gus was batting Shawna away, there was a knock at the door. He furrowed his eyebrows. “You invite anyone?”

“Yeah. Danny Heel.”

“As in Abrams’ best friend?”

“Exactly!”

“You had him come _here_? How is that appropriate?”

“Oh come on! I talked to the guy earlier and he's terrified. He thinks he's being followed.”

“So why doesn't he go to the police?”

“Paranoia. Honestly, I doubt anything he does is rational.” Before Gus had the opportunity to interject _like you're one to talk_ , there was another, more persistent knock. “Oh, right,” Shawna said, looking towards the door. “We should probably get that.” She slid easily off the table, sauntering over to the door. “Hey!” She said, swinging it open. “Come on in.”

Daniel seemed to look at her skeptically, nervously looking around the house. “So are you the psychic detective?”

“Shawna Spencer,” she grinned, sticking out her hand. He didn’t, however, take it, instead staring at it for an inordinate amount of time. “Okay, well,” she said, stepping to the side and furrowing her eyebrows. He bolted past her, making a beeline for the couch and immediately sinking down into it, still darting his head from side to side, like a nervous tick. 

“Uh, Shawna?” Gus said, leaning into her. “What’s wrong with this guy.”

“I don’t know. Didn’t you say Thorazine was used to treat schizophrenia?”

“Why? Shawna, is he taking Thorazine?” 

“Yes?” Shawna said, grinning hopefully back at him. 

“Oh, great,” Gus said, rolling his eyes. “And he’s the middle of an episode, so he’s of no help to us.”

“Oh, come on. He might have killed Abrams.”

“You think so?” Gus said, looking over at the twitching man skeptically. 

“No, it was too well planned. But, you know, he could be,” Shawna said, shrugging her shoulders. 

“You are no help. So if he can’t help us, why is he here? He looks like a paranoid schizophrenic, and you just invited him into the house with a stalker?”

“I’m wondering if there’s a connection,” Shawna admitted. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, our Bonnie here is brilliant at her job. She’s not just your average burglar. And Abram’s killer knew how and when to pin it on Tommy Washington. Santa Barbara isn’t exactly psycho central, you know.”

“You think it’s the same person? Shawna, we’re staying in the house that’s being stalked by a psychopath?” He said, his voice rising in pitch. 

“Okay, okay, calm down, because--” her voice trailed off, and she tilted her head to one side. “Oh, yeah, they could just be teammates or know each other or rivals or something,” she said, clearly winging it as she talked. “I don’t know, the timing’s weird.”

“That’s it, I’m calling Juliet,” Gus said, pulling out his cell phone. 

“No Lassie?”

Gus shrugged his shoulders while the phone was dialing. “Juliet, you are not going to believe what Shawna’s done this time…”

Shawna smiled a little bit, even as she walked to the couch to join the distraught Daniel Heel. The truth was, her motivations were a little more complex than Gus had attributed to her—although Gus knew one thing about Shawna. She was very rarely without a plan. It could be completely hare-brained and unhinged, but it was a plan nonetheless. And usually, they had this really crazy tendency of working. 

The truth was, Shawna was worried about Daniel, her natural empathy getting the best of her. The police weren’t going to protect him, and the only person she knew who could help she had just had a massive spat with. It was unrealistic to ask either Jules or Lassie to take the guy in, and that left Shawna. She wasn’t sure he was even implicated in the whole deal. But she knew one thing. He was genuinely afraid.

“Shawna! Shawna! Come here!” Gus yelled, causing Shawna’s head to jerk up. “You need to come here right now!” 

“Alright, talk to you in a second buddy,” Shawna said, giving the startled Daniel a pat on the back. “What?” She hissed to Gus. 

“Shawna, there’s been another murder.”


	13. Papa Bear

Shawna had slid so far down in her seat when Gus pulled into her father’s driveway that she was completely out of sight. “Shawna, you have to talk to him at some point,” Gus said sympathetically. “And I’ll be here, so he can’t be that much of a jerk.” 

“What’s going on?” Daniel asked, his hands shaking as he stared, fixated on the white beach house with red shutters that Shawna had called home for the first seventeen years of her life. 

“No one’s going to hurt you here,” Shawna said, somewhat grudgingly, but soft all the same. Her relationship with her father may have been volatile, but she did know he was capable. Maybe that was why it hurt so much when he looked at her like _that_ , like she was a disappointment, when she was still desperately trying not to be a disappointment to herself. 

Daniel was shaking his head vigorously, but Shawna was already reaching out, resting her hand on his wrist. “Hey,” she whispered, “I promise.”

For a moment, he stilled. He didn’t nod his head, but Shawna took it as confirmation, and she stepped out of the car, momentarily letting go of him before opening the door to take his hand again. “Come on,” she said, smiling. “It’s okay.” 

Gus looked at her quizically as Daniel Heel walked out with her, and she shrugged her shoulders. Heck if she knew what was going through the guy’s mind. She was, in fact, not actually psychic. 

It was Gus who rapped on the door, Shawna hanging behind, just barely edged in front of Daniel. She wanted to run, but her pride was keeping her feet rooted to the ground and her head held high. She would not let him make her feel like this. It was like Gus said, he was _wrong_ …(but what if he wasn’t? It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed her mind a time or two. What would she do then?)

As it was, she didn’t exactly haven’t a lot of time to dwell, as the door swung open, revealing her father in his signature, hideous Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. “Gus?” He said, an eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you guys did something illegal. Although,” he said, somewhat snippily, “Lord knows somehow Shawna will manage to get that wiped.”

“Which is why I wouldn’t need to come to you,” Shawna replied, just as snippily. 

“Okay, calm down,” Gus said, purposefully keeping himself in between the two. “Can we please come in?”

“I was just about to go out, so make it quick,” he said, sidestepping so Gus could walk in. Shawna was purposefully turning her left shoulder to Henry, her jaw clenched. She knew she would have to make nice to get what she wanted, but that brought with it a host of other issues she didn’t want to think about. It was easier to be angry.

“Listen, Mr. Spencer,” Gus said, “we just need you to look after a friend while we go to a crime scene.”

“So you’re using my place as a safehouse? Come on guys,” Henry groaned. “Okay, why does he need to be here?”

“He thinks he’s being followed,” Gus replied. 

“Is he?” 

“Probably not.” 

Shawna wasn’t quite out of earshot, and she glared at the two as she coaxed Daniel to sit down on the couch. He obliged, his leg bouncing up and down. “You’re sure they can’t find me here?”

“I know they won’t be able to walk in and get you,” She compromised. After one particularly messy fiasco, she had learned not to make promises she couldn’t keep, although after she had struck out on her own, she had begun to view that as more of a suggestion. Still, in that moment, given the intensity and familiarity of the situation, she wasn’t going to cross that line.

Gus and Henry both lowered their voices, because, for all of Henry’s bark, he wasn’t trying to purposefully make the guy his daughter and her best friend dragged in feel uncomfortable. “Then take him to a hospital!” He hissed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t run a psychiatric ward!” 

“Listen, Mr. Spencer, can we take this into the kitchen?” Gus said, jerking his head toward the other room. Out of surprise, Henry just nodded his head. Usually, Shawna was the one who took the lead role on these issues—although, even he knew, given their recent spat, they were in uncharted territory. 

As soon as they had rounded the corner, Gus’s calm demeanor had slid off his face. He was mad. More than mad, and for once, he was going to let Henry Spencer know it. “You owe her.”

“What are you talking about?” He said, taken aback by the sudden change in Gus’s emotion.

“You know what I mean!” He hissed in reply. “She told me what you told her.”

Henry sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Look…”

“No,” Gus cut in. “I don’t want to hear it. All I know is I was the one who was there for her. Do you know how close we—how close I came to losing her?”

“I know her job was dangerous…”

“I’m not talking about the job!” He said, close to exploding. “I’m talking about what came after. You weren’t there to pick up the pieces. _I_ was. You weren’t there to knock the pills out of her hand, or lock up her gun, or drive her home from the bar. _I_ was.” 

Henry’s mouth went dry. “Gus, don’t tell me she tried…”

“What do you care!” All of a sudden, Gus wanted to explode. Perhaps, some might think it was uncharacteristic. But it wasn’t. Not when it came to Shawna. “You’re the one who keeps driving her to it.” 

“I—” Henry’s voice choked up, and he looked down at his knuckles turning white as he gripped the counter. He wanted to say Gus was out of line. He wanted to kick them all out. But he couldn’t, and all of a sudden his eyes watering. “Gus, do you know how much it killed me to not hear from her? How _scared_ I was?” 

Gus softened, but only a little. “I was scared too. That’s not an excuse.” 

“I know, I know it isn’t,” he said softly. “I want to talk to her.” 

Without even having to think about it, Gus was putting his own body between Shawna and Henry, even though she was a room away from them, seated on the couch and calming down a man who was probably a paranoid schizophrenic. “Not now,” Gus said firmly. “You need to give her time.” 

“Okay,” he said, breathing out. “Alright, I’ll take care of that guy. But you have to take care of her.” 

“I always do,” Gus replied softly. 

And it hurt Henry, to know that Gus always did, and sometimes he didn’t. “Thank you,” Henry said. Because for all of his tiffs with his bull-headed daughter, there was no one else in the world he loved as much as her.

As soon as Gus nodded to her, Shawna was ready to bolt. Still, she placed a gentle hand on Daniel Heel, whispered in his ear that everything was going to be okay. And then she bolted. 

“So,” Shawna said as soon as she plopped herself down in the passenger seat, “how’d you convince my dad to take him?” 

“Shawna, I’m a pharmaceutical salesman. I know how to negotiate,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows. Shawna only laughed in reply, and the two set out as partners in crime—although, perhaps that wasn’t quite as appropriate a title now that they were in fact, private detectives. Although, sometimes, what they did may border on criminal, but that was another story for another time.


	14. Body #3

If the Beckett’s house had been a bloodbath, then the house of the Sampson’s was ritualistic—largely clean except for clearly planned violence. The most grotesque section was in the dining room table, where a small woman, barely older than a teenager, was laid out like a pig roast, complete with an apple speared in her mouth. 

This time, Shawna couldn’t blame Gus for puking. In the beginning, what seemed like an eternity ago, she would have puked too. As it was, an uneasy queasy feeling filled her stomach, but she had had the foresight to smear Vicks under her nose, and Gus had too, their shiny upper lips matching the more experienced crime scene technicians. 

“Well, the message is clear,” Shawna could hear Lassiter say, who was decidedly ignoring her presence. “It’s some vegan nut job.” 

“Or animal rights activist,” Juliet cut in, jotting something down as she walked the perimeter of the crime scene, careful not to get in the way of the forensic scientists. 

“Let’s send the crime scene photos to PETA,” Lassiter said, his upper lips curled. “That place is like a cult, and this is what we get.” 

Juliet rolled her eyes in response, but she did nothing else except just shake her head. “Well, the point of entry was through the kitchen window, and I can’t imagine an entire family being taking down by one guy, so this had to be some kind of group. Whether or not PETA is a cult,” Juliet said sarcastically, “whoever did this was part of one.” 

_Bonnie and Clyde._

Shawna gritted her teeth, then walked around the table—what presumedly was a family, with the eldest being somewhere around seventeen or eighteen years old, they’re entire life ahead of them. She deflated, but she kept walking. 

There was a muzzle on an older woman, her lips pulled harshly backward, presumedly as a statement against animal testing. An injection site in the neck of another one—several, actually, as she noted entry points on the crease of both arms, some vein that Gus would no doubt be able to rattle off but Shawna barely paid enough attention to care about it. Another had been slashed at the throat—another looked like a failed beheading, and Shawna held her breath as she finished her round. She knew this song and dance—although she knew her mostly calm demeanor was incredibly unsettling to her detective counterparts. Because no matter how much Lassiter tried to ignore her, she was and always would be the natural center of the room, which surprisingly extended to when she was demurely walking the perimeter.

“Well,” Lassiter said, somewhat sarcastically, “anything you want to add, Spencer?” Shawna was quiet for a moment, taking it all in, before Lassiter said, “What? She’s speechless? Somewhat get these sickos an accommodation.”

“Whoever led this doesn’t care about animals. Or at least, didn’t,” she finally said, breaking the silence. She was tempted to revert into herself, be the cold profiler she could be, remove herself entirely to protect herself and to protect the identity she so desperately wanted to separate herself from—but they were expecting a psychic, so she mustered up the courage to raise her hand to her head.

“I’m sorry, what? So they just staged the vegan propaganda for the heck of it?” Lassiter scoffed. 

Shawna tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowed. “Something like that.” She sighed, dramatically pretending to come out of a trance with the shake of her head. “That’s what the spirits told me.” 

“They didn’t give you much of a pony show this time around,” Juliet said, although she couldn’t bring herself to offer a smirk in light of the scene. She looked on the verge of getting sick, heck, if Lassiter had even an ounce more of sympathy in him, he would be vomiting too. 

“What can I say? Gore dampens them,” Shawna offered with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“Maybe gore also makes them dumber,” Lassiter cut in with a roll of his eyes. “Come on O’Hara, let’s get a jump on all of the animal rights groups in the area.” Dutifully, Juliet followed her partner out, and Shawna only stayed a moment before she headed out too. She really only wanted to sweep the room again—memorize the placement of every person, every scar, every weapon. 

Sometimes she wished she had a delete button in her brain. She thought maybe she did—she was certain there were some blacked out parts in her mind that she knew better than to go digging into. But she was pretty sure she would remember that scene, and it would be just another piece that would be fodder to her nightmares. But it was different now. And even if it wasn’t, she always had Gus, so she painted on a smile and walked out of the crime scene.

Gus was waiting in the car, still looking green at the gills. “Listen—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to egg you on that one,” Shawna said, offering a best friend her smirk before sobering. “Any sane person would go mad at that scene.” 

Gus didn’t mention how she hadn’t gone mad, because he figured that was a road neither of them particularly needed to go down. “So what are you thinking?” 

“I think I was wrong about Adam Beckett. Or, sort of. He didn’t pin that murder on that kid.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I think it was classic wrong place, wrong time.”

“What about the finger prints?” 

“The kid sees a body, probably has the knife in a wound, and impulsively takes it out, only to find the guy already dead,” Shawna explained. “There’s no other prints because our original murderer is too smart to leave any. The point is, it was textbook process focused hedonist or power seeking. Overkill makes me lean towards hedonist.” 

“And?” 

“And this was text book act-based missionary. I mean, come on, it was laid out like a first=year’s crime scene.”

“Once again, and?” Gus said, shaking his head. 

“And if you look at the two crime scenes,” Shawna said slowly, “you’d think they were committed by completely different people. But you put them on the same timeline, this close together,” she said, “and I think it’s the same group.”

“How?” Gus said, as he was pulling out of the driveway to get away from the evil that permeated from the house.

“The link between the crime scenes is they’re both textbook killers. We’re looking at someone who has enough of an understanding of serial killer classifications to carry them out. Which means we’re left with visionary and power seeking.” 

“So there’s two more?” 

“At least,” she responded, biting her lips. 

“Okay. But now you have a pattern, right?” 

“I think so,” Shawna replied. “Listen, I think maybe Daniel—and I don’t know, maybe you should stay with Dad too.” 

“Me? No. I am not staying with your dad. You won’t even stay with your dad!” Shawna opened her mouth to protest, but Gus beat her to it. “I’ll be fine. As for Daniel, you really think we can pawn him off on your dad for the whole night?” 

“What’s he going to do? He can’t kick the guy out,” Shawna said.

“So we’re just going to not pick him up?”

“Exactly,” Shawna grinned.

But the grin was bound to fade when she saw Buzz McNab in front of Ralph Dexter’s door. “Oh, Shawna!” He said, sending her a dazzling smile.

“Buzz!” Shawna was smiling too, but it was a bit forced as she hopped out of the car before Gus even completely came to a stop (which she was going to get an earful for, she was sure). “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Detective Lassiter told me about a break in here. I’m supposed to check it out. I’m sorry Shawna, but he gave me strict instructions not to let you stop me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shawna said, slapping Buzz on the back as she opened the door. “Just, one minute,” she said, raising her finger up. “Gus! Get over here!” 

“What?” Gus said, waving to Buzz before stepping into the house. “Shawna, this could be a good thing. Besides, he’s not going to find anything you didn’t, right? And then he can’t do anything about it.” 

“I just don’t need a swarm of cops over here,” She said, scrunching her nose. “Alright, fine,” she hissed, just as she opened the door again. “Buzz!” She said cheerfully. “Come on in! I have to warn you though, we only have the spirits to go on anyway…”

 

Across town, Lassiter’s phone buzzed. “Can you check it?” He asked Juliet, not bothering to take the phone off the road. 

“It’s Shawna,” Juliet responded, her eyebrows knit together. “It’s a text.” Without bothering to ask him, she opened the message, which only caused her confusion to deepen. “What is she talking about? She just said ‘Now I’m definitely not donating to the policeman’s ball?’” 

“It’s Spencer, what does she ever mean?” Lassiter growled, but Juliet couldn’t help but notice the trace of a smirk on his lips.


	15. And so it begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, loves! It's been a crazy few days, but I hope you like this "late night crazy" chapter. And by that I mean I was late night crazy when I wrote this. Enjoy.

McNab did, in fact, leave rather quickly, as there was nothing left to document other than what Lassiter had already found. He would go file a report, which, while inconvenient, for the moment was rather irrelevant to Shawna. 

It had already been late when they got back to the house, so by the time McNab left, Gus was practically sleeping on his feet. This lead to a rather unpleasant tug of war between gravity and Shawna, which ended with Shawna carrying a sagging Gus and dropping him unceremoniously on the couch. There were a few hiccups—like when Shawna’s foot caught on the edge of the rug and Gus was dumped on the ground, which was bound to leave one heck of a bruise—but hey, he made it. 

As for herself, Shawna was comfortable staying awake. Or at least, she was comfortable not sleeping—had been for a while. She should get sleeping pills, but in the meantime, she could be one heck of a lookout. 

Except being a lookout was actually one of Shawna’s greatest weaknesses, because she got bored easily. Recently, her lack of an attention span had lead to a series of introspective thoughts that left her nauseous, and so in that moment she was left doing nothing else other than playing on her phone. Which was fine, because for all of her faults, she tended to pick up on what she really needed to pick up on. In the meantime, Gus had an entire folder in her phone marked “Distractions,” generally used for the purpose of, as he put it, “babysitting” her. And even if she protested the name, it worked. In fact, it was in the midst of a rather compelling game of Angry Birds that she heard it. 

Snap. 

Every instinct that had been painfully developed, every memory that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, every bit of intuition that she had been born with suddenly came alive at that exact moment. It wasn’t loud, or even apparent—Gus was still snoring soundly on the couch, but it had been there, and she would have bet every accolade she had ever gotten and subsequently hidden on that. 

She got up, her hand resting on her cell phone. For a brief moment, she thought about calling someone for back up, but she had never called for back up before so why start now? (Before, she usually had a gun, but that was something that she wasn’t going to dwell on. What she could think about was why she didn’t have a gun at that very moment, but that wasn’t going to help her either. Still, she put it on her mental to-do list: start carrying again). 

She had, in various stages of her life, been called a mess. She probably was, which was why she couldn’t find the flashlight she had brought with her which she swore she had put on the counter. She had her phone, of course, but that meant it would be harder to keep Lassiter’s number on speed dial. After all, calling her father was out of the question, and bringing in Jules would just make things messier. Plus, she knew good old Lassie would always come for her, even if he grumbled and complained the entire time, and if he made fun of her for weeks after. He would come, and Gus would be okay.

It was funny how her thoughts went straight to Gus, as if she was going to be out of the picture entirely. Maybe it was an omen, like the ones Gus had been obsessed with after they both snuck out to watch The Exorcist when they were kids. A lot of things were funny in that moment, but the most unfunny thing of them all was that little voice in her head that kept telling her something wasn’t right. 

But after all this time, who was she to stop being a loose cannon?

She slowly got up, aware of every sound she made and every sound she didn’t make. She snapped on her phone’s flashlight app right before opening up her contacts to Lassie, her finger hovering over the call button.

She had done this song and dance before. She knew, of course, this time she was woefully unarmed. But she had been in worse situations with less before, and sure, her heart had been pounding out of her chest then, but could she feel it beating in her head then too? 

No, that was just a headache. Probably because she hadn’t slept. 

The truth was, even as her entire body was tensed in fear, she moved on instinct. She knew what she was doing—or much as Shawna Spencer could ever know what she was doing—and every movement became like clockwork, a mechanism to propel her forward. Sure, her months in therapy that she had spent trying to lose her nihilistic mindset was certainly coming back to bite her in that moment, but hey, at least Gus had stopped locking up her guns. 

(Had he? She realized she didn’t know. Hadn’t checked in a long time. Funny the things the mind brings up in the strangest circumstances. Or maybe that was just Shawna Spencer, resident fake psychic detective with a good dose of ADHD on the side). 

Gingerly, she slid the glass door open, the light from her phone’s flashlight app casting an eerie glow over the pool. She could only see a few yards in front of her, and then the rest was lost to the pitch black of the night. She held the phone an arm’s length away from her, trying to stretch her eyesight as far as she possibly could. In her mind, she was retracing that sound. She crept out into the yard, away from the safety of the house, scanning the immediate area for any movement. She had been in the kitchen, and the snap had been straight out—

Straight out. That wasn’t right. That would have landed the sound right in front of the porchlight and why would anyone who knew anything about breaking in walk there?

The answer? They wouldn’t. Especially not Bonnie and Clyde, where everything was meticulously done. They wouldn’t make a sound, let alone make any noise.   
They wanted her to hear it.

They wanted her to be in the yard.

Her finger smashed Lassiter’s number, but it only rang once before she heard footsteps behind her. Her phone fell helplessly to the ground as she clenched her fists, up by her face. She could barely make out the shadows, but it was enough. 

She took a step back, found her footing, and whipped her leg up. Her foot right beneath her assailant’s sternum. She let out an involuntarily guttural yell as she attacked, but that was promptly snuffed out when her face was suddenly being stuffed with some kind of cloth filled with some kind of pungent scent and she was starting to get heady and she couldn’t concentrate, and who could have possibly gotten behind her, and—everything was blurring together into one, past and present. Maybe even future for all she could know in that moment. She felt her arms being twisted behind her back, and her body roughly hitting the ground. 

Despite all of her training, all of her abilities, she couldn’t parse apart what was real and what wasn’t as everything swam together. For instance, she could have sworn she heard Lassie’s voice right before she passed out.

There was one thing she knew for certain. 

She had definitely left the flashlight on the counter.


	16. Barrel of Monkeys

She didn’t come to all at once. In fact, she didn’t really know when she came to at all, because reality and fiction was still blurring together so bizarrely she couldn’t quite parse them apart. 

What she didn’t know was that she was finding it very hard to breath. And she was itchy. 

There was some kind of thick, black bag over her head, tied so tightly around her neck she felt like it was choking her. Given her racing heart, and the stifling heat that seemed to encompass her, it was a recipe for disaster.

Deep breaths, Shawna. 

She counted the seconds, purposefully expanding her stomach as she breathed in the stale air, meticulously counting to five before releasing, counting again before repeating the process all over again. It wasn’t helping the nausea that was coming over her in waves, but it was making her heart rate drop to a more acceptable rate. 

Abruptly, someone grabbed onto the back of her back, jerking her head back so quickly she heard a snap. The pain erupted and radiated across her back, and she involuntarily cried out. Unfortunately, the front of the bag was successfully smooshed against her face, and she was inhaling canvas. She was finding it hard to breath again. Were they suffocating her? Not like this, there was Gus, did Lassie get her message, she needed to protect them, him—

The hand pushed her head forward so her chin roughly clashed against her chest, and with the twinge in her neck, it felt like someone was taking pliers and twisting the nerves in her neck until they broke. Probably pessimistically, she thought about how there was still time for that to actually happen. 

She had to get oriented. She had to get up. 

Someone was circling in front of her, shoes clicking on the floor. Probably a psychological thing, she reasoned. Which was good, because if they were employing psychological methods of intimidation, they needed her for something, which, granted, she had figured when she actually woke up instead of eating dirt six feet under. 

She had to take stock. She was sitting in what must have been a straight-backed wooden chair, her wrists tied behind the back with thick, course rope—not exactly the kind of material that would be prime for wiggling out of. Here ankles were crossed and tied the same way, pulling painfully on her calves and thighs as they were separated, yet held so tightly that she couldn’t cross her legs to accommodate for the space. It was like they were twisting her into pretzel. Maybe they are, she thought. 

A hand was at her neck, not quite squeezing, but pressing and kneading her skin, almost—sensually?

She felt like she was going to be sick, and despite the fact that she knew it wouldn’t work, she involuntarily jerked her head away from him, which only felt like she had amplified the pain by 1000. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out in pain. And the psychopath _laughed_.

Then the hands were back at her neck, but this time they were undoing the string. Her heart began to beat faster, desperation building within her. She needed to get out—and then the bag was ripped off her head and she was gulping in the air. 

It took a moment for her eyes to get adjusted, although she knew from the moist air that they were underground. Some kind of cellar, by the looks of it, surrounded by four walls of concrete. The darkness concealed a lot, but in a lot of ways this place wasn’t so different from other cases she’d worked. She knew where she was. She didn’t need to be able to identify the long metal table, or the sinister objects she couldn’t quite make out. 

She was in a torture chamber. 

With the man who was currently right in front of her—his face completely hidden by a burlap sack, three holes cut out for his eyes and mouth. Other than that, she couldn’t make out much of him—only that she was pretty sure the sack was tinged in blood. It was a faceless killer, but all she had to do was rip that stupid mask off. 

She couldn’t do that, but what she could do was talk. “Oh, now I get it! We were matching! I would have coordinated more if I had—” Before she could even finish her sentence, he had his fist raised, and slammed against the side of her cheek, her neck snapping to the left. “Ugh!” She groaned. There was a definite ringing in her ears, and she was starting to see spots. _Deep breaths._

“What do you know?” The voice was deep, but even, with the faintest hint of a twang. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine some suave, southern sicko that picked up girls on the side of the road with an easy smile and a killer ending. But that didn’t quite fit the profile. 

Just as she was about to fade out, he slapped her, and she groaned. “Look, I don’t know if you’ve been talking to my father, but I actually know a lot of things. You’re going to have to be more specific,” she said, her voice raspy. 

His hand was around her neck again, gently started to apply pressure. “You’ve been working some cases recently.”

“Can’t breathe,” she said, faking a cough so he would let her go. It was a total lie, but he was at least pretending to buy it, and he dropped his hand. “Is this about the lost cat case? Because I swear, I really did see that thing change into a dog with my own eyes.”

“You think it’s smart to mess with me!” He hissed. He was over her in an instant, a tall dark figure that could have embodied any number of fears. He bent down, so close that she could feel his breath on her face, smelling like he had just smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. 

“You know, you’re going to get cancer—” His hand was around her throat again, and this time, he was more enthusiastic about how tight he went. 

“I have all the time in the world,” He crooned, tightening, tightening, tightening—she was gagging, desperately tugging her restraints as her vision started fading again. Then, when everything was going black, he pressed his lips to her ear—chapped and disgusting, with burlap chafing the side of her face—and whispered, “It’s always more fun when they fight.” 

She was going to choke out “I’m a barrel of monkeys,” but that was very hard to do when she felt like her vocal chords were collapsing in on themselves.

 

 

Everything about being woken up at 3 A.M. was horrible. Seeing Spencer’s name light up on is caller ID was even worse. “Son of a—” Lassiter groaned, and he was almost tempted to chuck the phone out the window. 

But then there was that feeling. Something wasn’t right. 

He wasn’t a psychic, but he knew Shawna Spencer. Which may have seem paradoxical, because knowing Shawna Spencer, it would not surprise him in the least that she would call at 3 A.M. just to talk all sorts of nonsense and annoy him to no end. But maybe it was just the fact that there was a possible serial killer and someone painted blood on the walls of the Dexter residence, but every hair on the back of his neck rose. 

He answered the phone. “Spencer, I swear I will kill you if this isn’t important.” 

There was a soft thud, like she had dropped the phone, and he was up in an instant. “Spencer? Where are you?” 

More noises, shuffling, something that sounded like hand to hand fighting, a groan. “Shawna!” He was already pulling his gun out of his nightstand, as if somehow he could send a bullet through the phone. “Shawna, what’s going on?” 

She never answered, but his blood ran cold when he swore he heard a girlish cry.


	17. Pending Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm going to try and get on a normal uploading schedule at some point. Unfortunately, work has been getting in the way, but thank you for your patience and your support! For real, your comments are what keeps me motivated to finish this story. 
> 
> As always, enjoy this late night, sleepless induced chapter!

Gus had a very strict sleeping schedule. Sure, whenever Shawna was around, it seemed to be completely messed up, but his eight hours of sleep was very important to him. If he was going to be his best, he needed to be well-rested. Especially recently, because he really needed to do double time on his pharmaceutical route in order to make up for time that was spent in the Psych offices. 

Usually, he kept his phone on silent at night. But, when Shawna dragged him to the couch, she didn’t exactly think to reach into his pocket for his phone. Which was how he was jerked rudely awake by the obnoxious ringing. 

“Shawna!” Gus groaned. “Shawna, is this you?” He rubbed his eyes, scowling as he reached into his pocket. “Listen, I’m sorry I fell asleep, okay? I just…”

Carlton Lassiter. 

In what world did Carlton Lassiter call Gus when it was barely past 3? 

“Shawna!” He yelled one last time, groaning as she didn’t respond. She must have conked out too. “Lassie, can’t this wait until morning?” He said into his phone, his voice still heavy with sleep. 

“Guster, where’s Spencer?” The Detective’s voice was even, schooled. But Gus had spent years trying to read Shawna’s ups and downs, and he could hear the panic interlacing Lassiter’s voice. 

“I don’t know,” Gus said, already getting up. “Shawna!” He yelled again, this time more desperate. 

“What do you mean you don’t know!” Lassiter sounded about ready to bust a cap, but Gus could hardly pay attention to him. 

“Shawna, this isn’t funny!” He yelled again, and he found himself breaking into a full run as he circled around the house. Not in the kitchen, not in the dining room. He barged into bathrooms and bedrooms, irreverent of privacy. Nothing. “Lassie, I can’t find her!” 

He wished he could say there were very few times when he had been this scared, but there were too many to count. There were entire years that he spent lying awake, thinking about the next mess Shawna had gotten herself into. There were times in high school before that, and a million times after that. But he never got used to it. Never got used to the way his heart stopped and then picked up to beat a million times the next second. Never got used to the light headedness, the nausea he never got otherwise, and he never stopped praying that it was all just a dream. But he never woke up. 

“Okay, calm down, Guster.” As much as Lassiter wanted to rip Gus a new one, he wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him if he was panicking. “Did she take the car?” 

“Oh. Yeah, probably,” Gus said, but his hands were still shaking. He practically ran to the front of the house, and flipped the porchlight on, praying that in the next hour he would be yelling at Shawna about how it was “a company car.” 

The Blueberry was exactly where he’d parked it. “It’s here,” he said. “The car’s still here.” 

“Okay. Is it possible she’s outside?” 

“Hold on.” 

A lot of things slipped Shawna’s mind, which was one of the many reasons she needed Gus. Gus, after all, would pack an overnight bag complete with necessities for both of them since it wasn’t unlike her to only have the clothes she was wearing. And in that black bag, still placed on the side of the bed he never made it up to, was a military grade flashlight that Henry Spencer had given Shawna and she had passed on to Gus. 

His hands were trembling so hard, he could barely turn the switch on. _Deep breath._ He needed to focus, for her. Something was wrong. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going outside,” Gus said, his voice trembling. 

“No, Guster, stay inside and lock the door. I’m on my way,” Lassiter replied. Gus could hear, to his surprise, the ignition of Lassiter’s car starting, but that didn’t put Gus off from his mission. 

“No. She could be hurt. I need to find her,” Gus replied, already standing at the glass door that lead to the pool, the light piercing into the darkness that was no longer just darkness for Gus. 

“No, Guster, stay inside!” Lassiter said, practically yelling. “It’s not going to help anyone if you’re both dead!” 

_Dead._ Gus was afraid a lot of things, but the thing he was by far the most afraid of was one day finding Shawna’s body. 

The sliding door screeched as Gus pried it open, and he ran out onto the damp grass, shoes still on his feet from when Shawna had laid him down mere hours before. “Shawna!” He yelled. He almost slipped several times as he ran around the perimeter, edging on hysterical. “Shawna, this isn’t funny!” But nothing was ever funny. 

“She’s not here. Lassiter, she’s not here!” He panicked, beginning to turn in circles.   
“Get back inside, Guster!” 

Gus practically dropped the phone. 

“Guster! Guster!” Lassiter swore and hit the dashboard of his car in frustration. “Guster, I swear to God—” 

“I’m here.” His voice was husky, as if he was about to start crying any second. 

“What is it?” 

Shakily, Gus got down on his knees, dampening the dockers that on any other day he would refuse to as much as put in Shawna’s washing machine. “It’s her phone,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s her phone. It’s just lying on the ground.” He scooped it up in his hands, his fingers running over the cracked screen. 

“Guster, get back inside!” 

This time, he didn’t argue.

It didn’t take long before the house was swarming with cops. Given recent developments, the disappearance of the SBPD’s lead consultant was becoming a top priority. 

If the case had brought flashbacks for Shawna, then this was Gus’s war flashback. 

He was making coffee for the officers, needing to do something or else he would go insane. He had suggested, numerous times, to just get in the car and sweep the city. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” 

“I know, I know,” Juliet said gently, laying a hand on Gus’s arm. The truth was, Juliet was shaken too. No, shaken wasn’t the right word. She was terrified. Juliet hadn’t found a lot of girlfriends in Santa Barbara, but somehow the eccentric psychic had woven her way into Juliet’s life so she wasn’t completely sure when she could separate her life from Shawna. Juliet was on the verge of breaking, but she had a job to do, and she was going to do it well. She was going to find Shawna. “I know how this feels. I am so sorry, really,” she said, her breath catching. “God, I want nothing more than to just tear the city apart. And believe me, I know Carlton feels the same,” she said, laughing dryly as she turned her face to her partner, who was even then barking orders and berating poor officers who’s sleep deprived state was making their work less than perfect. 

“So why don’t we?” 

“What?” Juliet asked, her eyebrows knit together as she turned back to Gus. 

“Why can’t we get in the car and tear the city apart? We know these guys are good, we’re not going to find anything here anyway.” Angrily, Gus put his mug of coffee down, his hands still gripped tightly around it. “I need to find her!” 

Juliet paused. It didn’t sound so bad. Gus was right, they probably weren’t going to find anything at the house. She wanted to get in the car and go more than anything. 

But then she shook her head. “Gus, it’s a bad use of time. We’re going to be taking a shot in the dark. We need to start setting up a legitimate investigation if we’re going to find her.” 

“Juliet, you don’t understand! Shawna isn’t going to survive this!” 

“Hey! Yes she is!” Juliet grabbed on to Gus’s arm, her voice passionate. 

“I don’t mean like that,” He said, his eyes watering as he jerked away from Juliet. 

Juliet just nodded her head, taking deep breaths to regain her composure. “Have you called her father?” 

Gus looked up in surprise, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No.” 

“Don’t.” Juliet jumped at the sound of her partner’s voice right behind her, his arms folded over his chest. “The last thing I need is another Spencer getting in the way of this investigation. Especially if she’s hurt. If we’re going to find her, we can’t be compromised.” 

“Aren’t we already compromised,” Juliet said, her voice cracking. _Deep breaths._ Still, she had to put her hand in front of her mouth, desperate to stop the images that were invading her mind—Shawn dead, Shawna bloody, Shawna riddled with bullet holes—she wanted to vomit. 

Perhaps surprisingly, Lassiter didn’t respond to Juliet; he couldn’t, not really. “Listen,” he said, his voice low, “every other body we’ve found this God forsaken week was killed on site.” 

“She’s not dead!” Juliet and Gus said simultaneously, loud enough to cause a few of the police officers to jump. 

“I know, I know,” Lassiter conceded—which Juliet would later think was very unlike her cold, blunt partner. Apparently he needed to believe Shawna was alive as much as they did. “I’m saying, she was moved off site. Whoever has her, whatever group they’re from, they need her for something. Gus, I need to know everything that Shawna had—divined—” he said through gritted teeth, “over the past few days.” 

“Right. Right, um,” Gus said, starting to pace. “Oh! She was using my computer!” He flipped open his laptop that was still laid out on the kitchen table, where Shawna had perched herself that morning, exchanging barbs and grinning that devilish smile that was the death of everyone around her, not least of which was Lassiter. “Wait, hold on,” he said, taking a step back as the computer was loading. “She said the link between the murders was they were both textbook killers. It’s the same group. And,” he paused, his head jerking up. “She said there’s at least two more to go.” 

“Textbook killing? What does she know about any textbook?” Lassiter replied, but Gus was still shaking his head. 

“Something about act-based missionary and hedonist power-seeking. We left Daniel Heel at Henry’s place.” 

“Daniel Heel? Gus slow down. Who’s Daniel Heel?” Juliet said, her eyes widening. 

“Beckett’s best friend. He’s schizophrenic and he thought someone was following him. We left him at Henry’s.” 

“So you’re saying we’re going to have to bring Henry in on this, aren’t we?” Lassiter groaned. 

“Looks like it,” Juliet replied. 

“Okay, fine. Come on, let’s go.”


	18. The Masked Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to Psych. Obviously. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading this mess. Love you all! Your comments inspire me to keep going :)

Shawna wished she could say it was the first time she had found herself tied up. Or even if she could say it was her first time tied up in a torture chamber. Unfortunately, neither of those scenarios were true.

For all of his outward macabre appearance, her abductor was fairly amateurish in their torture methods. Mostly jagged slices with a dull knife, which resulted in more of a sawing motion that absolutely killed. Shawna’s legs, which were now completely bare, were covered in angry marks, some of her wounds gelling over. Yet somehow, she still couldn’t help but think _could be worse._

For instance, she could be dealing with dominant one of the obvious pair—the Bonnie, as she would say for Gus’s sake. He would be more precise, every move articulate, every thing he did specifically designed to bring pain. 

And she could think all of this, but it didn’t change the fact that she could feel the blood oozing down her legs or how the stale air felt hitting her fresh wounds, which were far from sterile and at this rate, she was going to die from an infection and someone needed to take care of Gus, and Lassie, who was going to jive with him, was he going to get a girlfriend, and—dang it, she was fading again. 

Focus. She needed to fight for this. He was to the left of her, the swinging of tools creaking because of disuse or misuse. 

Everything hurt. But pain was good, pain meant she was alive. She could deal with pain. 

“So,” she said, her voice cracked—she needed water— “want to tell me what’s next on the agenda?” 

The man chuckled, but she could pick up on the theatrical element of it, which he undoubtedly thought had been seamlessly interwoven. He wanted her to believe he was in complete control, unphased by her, and she rolled her eyes. “You have quite the mouth on you, don’t you?” He broke out into a wicked grin. “That will change soon.” 

“You said that thirty minutes ago,” she groaned. Everything hurt, but still, she wouldn’t let the pain invade her thoughts. “You have a time table for that?” 

“What, you have somewhere to go?” He taunted, walking closer to her. She could see something in his hand, but her vision was spotty. Still, it looked horrifying, some kind of terrifying contraption that was toothed and rusty, and I’m going to need a tetanus shot if I get out of here, but no, there could be no if, she was going to get out and—she needed to focus, even if her head was pounding. 

From an objective standpoint, she probably should have shut her mouth. But she also knew that she needed to be able to keep own sanity so she could figure a way out, and part of that was going to be keep talking, keep distracting him and keep distracting herself. “Well, now that you mention it—” 

The object plunged into her side, and she screamed.

 

 

Just a few hours ago, Henry Spencer was asleep in his bed, still disgruntled over the fact that he had been stood up by his own daughter. Still, being nothing but a gracious host, he offered the man Shawna’s own room—that had remained unchanged, despite the fact that it had been over a decade since she had lived there (he couldn’t bring himself to change it, and every time he thought about packing it up he felt such a heaviness that he couldn’t even attempt it without tearing up). He apologized for the purple sheets and blankets, only saying it was his daughter’s room—but then he had gone to sleep without a second thought. 

And then his house broke into total hell. 

His phone started ringing, and immediately, as he jerked awake, he felt his heart seize up. That early in the morning, something bad must have happened. Shawna. 

His fear was multiplied tenfold when he saw the caller ID, and his hands were shaking when he pressed the answer button. “Gus, where’s Shawna?” 

“Mr. Spencer, we’re on our way to your house.” 

“You and Shawna?” His fear gave way to frustration, and he groaned. “Why the—”

“Not with Shawna. She’s missing.” Gus felt ready to cry, and Juliet rested a hand on his arm. “I’m with Juliet and Lassiter.”

Silence. Henry slumped forward, feeling as though the breath had been knocked out of him. 

If only he had known that Shawna was feeling that in a far more literal sense. 

And then Henry exploded. “What do you mean she’s missing!” He became completely unfeeling towards Daniel Heel, not caring that he was getting louder with every word. “What happened to her?” 

“She—we think—someone took her,” Gus replied brokenly. “We’re almost at your house.” 

“Who took her?” He balanced his phone on his shoulder as he got dressed, and then opening the drawer to his dresser to get his gun. “Gus, what’s going on?” 

“We don’t know,” he admitted. “Hold on, we’re here.” 

Henry could see the reflection of car lights in his window, and he ran down the stairs, completely irrespective of Daniel, who at this point was long since forgotten. Still, the commotion caused the light sleeper to jerk awake, trapped in a cold sweat. Henry knew none of this, nor was he sure he was even capable of caring about anything other than his daughter. 

He once said there wasn’t a room he would tear down to save his daughter. He meant it—now he just needed to find the room. 

He opened the door just as the detectives and Gus were running up the steps. “Someone want to explain to me what the heck is going on?” he snapped. 

“Listen, can we come in?” Juliet replied. 

Henry groaned but stepped aside. “Yeah, of course.” 

“Shawna was working a case,” She said, as the three settled in on the couch. “There have been—”

“Yeah, a series of murders. I _know_ ,” He cut in. “How do you know she’s missing?” 

“She called me,” Lassiter replied, his voice cold. 

“What, did she say she was in distress? Who has her? Is there some kind of ransom?” Henry said, his questions seeming to be coming faster than he could get them out. 

“No. It sounded like she didn’t have a chance to—I think she called me knowing something was going to happen, and then it was too late.” Lassiter cleared his throat, his fingers gripping onto the couch. “I heard a struggle, and—I think I heard her cry out,” he mumbled. 

“What? That’s it?” Henry laughed nervously, getting up and throwing his hands in the air. “Lassiter, she was pranking you!” 

“I searched the house,” Gus said, his voice bordering on exasperated. “She’s not there, and we found her phone outside. She wouldn’t leave without that.” 

“So she’s pranking all of you!” He replied. “She ran off! She does it all the time!” 

“Not on me!” Gus said, his voice raised as he stood up. “She doesn’t run off _on me_!” 

The connotation was clear. She ran off on Henry Spencer, but not on Burton Guster. Both Juliet and Lassiter were left wide-eyed, while the two men who seemed to be involved in a stand off were breathing heavily. And then Lassiter had enough. “Listen,” he said sternly, standing up, “I don’t know what kind of bickering you two have going on, but somebody has Spencer and they’re probably not trying to play Cowboys and Indians with her!” He said, by the end borderline yelling. 

Henry’s shoulders sagged. He knew—he wanted desperately this to be a childish prank, but he knew. “Okay, what’s the game plan?” 

“We need to talk to Daniel Heel,” Juliet replied. “We need to know if someone was actually following him or if he has any connection to the crime.” 

“Okay, right. I’ll go get him up,” Henry replied. 

But Daniel Heel was already up. In fact, he was pacing in his room, muttering something indistinguishable under his breath. “Daniel?” Henry said as he knocked on the door. “Daniel, the cops need to talk to you.”

“The cops?” Daniel swung the door open, his eyes wide. “Did they find the guy who’s stalking me?” 

“No, but Shawna’s gone and we need you to answer some questions.” 

“He got her,” Daniel gasped, his hands immediately flying to his mouth. “He got her!” 

“Okay, who’s got her!” Henry replied, almost yelling, but Daniel was already flying down the stairs. 

Juliet had to swat her partner’s arm so he didn’t pull out his gun when the man came running down, his eyes completely wild. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault!” He cried out, his hands gripping onto his hair and slightly tugging. “Adam, Shawna, me—”

“Mr. Heel, I’m going to need you to calm down,” Juliet said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder, but he only jerked away from her. “Who do you think has Shawna?” 

“Him,” he said, looking at her as if she was stupid. “He’s been following me since Adam.” 

“Who’s been following you?” Lassiter snapped, clearly on the edge of losing his cool.” 

“The masked man,” he whispered conspiratorially. 

“The masked man?” Juliet repeated, somewhat in disbelief. 

“Yes,” He replied, nodding his head. “He started appearing in my window right before Adam died.” 

“I’m sorry, did you say before?” Lassiter replied, his eyebrows scrunched together. He had wondered if they were on a wild goose chase before, and the man’s unhinged state was only confirming his pessimism. This wasn’t helping. He needed to get out, needed to find Shawna—Spencer—before they found her in a dumpster or with an apple stuck in her mouth rotating on some sicko’s roast. He wanted to throw up. 

“It was the day before Adam died,” he whispered, his eyes widening. 

“So you’re saying the day before Adam Beckett died a man appeared in your window? Why didn’t you come forward?” 

“I couldn’t!” Daniel said, beginning to pace again. “They wouldn’t believe me!” 

“But you went to the cops to tell them you thought you were being followed?” Lassiter said, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. The man didn’t answer, just continued pacing. 

“Okay, that’s it, we have to retrace her steps,” Henry said, grabbing onto his coat. 

“Wait a minute, hold on,” Lassiter said. “This is still my investigation.” 

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” He replied, rolling his eyes as he opened the door. 

Lassiter knew there was no way he was going to keep Henry out of the investigation, so at that point he figured it was the best he was going to get and he followed him out while Juliet sat down with the unreliable witness to try and get some kind of description.


	19. Lubricant

Henry had paced the yard for what felt like hours to Gus. In fact, it was barely an hour, and the sun was just peeking out over Santa Barbara. And despite the fact that Henry was thankful for the extra light, there was something unsettling about the morning. It was like nightmares were supposed to be confined to nighttime hours. That day, they had escaped. 

Lassiter had long since given up trying to tell Henry that they had already gone over the lawn with a fine-toothed comb, and he settled in the kitchen, his eyes glued to the computer screen, where he had pulled up a map—which was very hard to concentrate on with Gus peering over his shoulder. “Would you at least back up?” he snapped, not even bothering to look back at him. 

And Gus didn’t bother to respond. “You know how to do geographic profiling, right?” He asked. It was one of the words Shawna had constantly thrown around, and he had taken an online class in profiling when they were back in DC. 

“Just shut up!” Lassiter shot back, practically yelling. “I’m trying to map out the murders. Maybe they took her somewhere in that area.” 

“Right. Geographic profiling,” Gus nodded. “Can’t you—do some kind of criminal profiling?” 

“Yeah, it’s my job.”

“What if we get the FBI in on this?” 

Despite the fact that Lassiter was, in fact, rather desperate to find Shawna, that didn’t mean the suggestion hurt his ego any less. “We don’t need the feds! This is my case!” 

“I don’t care!” Gus shot back. “We need to find Shawna!” 

“And I will!” Lassiter’s hand slammed down on the table, and he scowled back at Gus. “Now get out so I can work!” 

“I’m trying to work too!” Gus yelled right back. He clicked his tongue, sending a scowl back at the detective before marching back to the counter. “Where’s her phone?” 

“It’s in evidence.” 

“Evidence? I need that!” Gus said, whirling back around. “I need to look at her contacts!” 

“What? She has some secret boyfriend you have to call?” He replied, rolling his eyes. 

“This is serious!” Gus took a deep breath, trying to gather himself together. Okay—okay, everything was going to be okay. Sure, usually Shawna did this part, but he could do it. He just needed to steal the phone from evidence. “I need air,” he said, and if Lassiter was any less consumed in his work, he would have noted an undertone of anxiety in Gus’s voice. But he didn’t notice, and Gus left in the Blueberry. 

Lassiter may not be willing to call in the A Team, but Gus couldn’t care less about Lassiter’s feelings. All he needed was her contacts, and he knew a team who drop everything to save a sharp tongued girl who claimed to be a psychic detective. 

 

 

It took a solid ten minutes before Juliet could even calm Daniel to the point where he was at least coherent. “You’re in good hands now,” she said reassuringly, resting a hand on the schizophrenic’s wrist. “Everything’s going to be okay. I just need you to answer some questions.” 

Finally, Daniel nodded his head and let out a deep breath.

“Okay,” Juliet said, forcing herself to smile just to put him at ease, even if she didn’t feel like smiling at all. “Did you talk to Adam before he was killed?”

“No.” Daniel shook his head, his eyebrows knit together. “We haven’t talked in a while.” 

“Can you describe the man in the window for me?” 

“Yeah. Kind of an old guy—gray hair, blue eyes, wrinkled, white. Medium height,” he said, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. 

“How old do you think he was?” 

“I don’t know. Late sixties, I guess.” 

“Okay. Have you ever seen him before?” 

“No, never. But I just knew something was wrong about him.”

“Did you see him after?” 

“No,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “But he killed Adam. I know that.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do.” 

Juliet was by far the more optimistic out of the Lassiter and O’Hara detective duo, but even she had her limits, and she had just about reached it. Even if her own leg wasn’t bouncing, she thought that she probably was just as anxious and impatient. “Is there _anything_ else you can tell me?” 

He thought for a minute, and the silence made her want to burst. “No,” he finally said, shaking his head. “Nothing else.”

“Okay,” Juliet said, getting up. 

“Wait.” He jumped up, his eyes wide. “Can I go see where she was taken?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“I need to see it!” He was borderline yelling, and Juliet found herself on instinct moving her hand to her holster. 

“Why do you need to see it?” It was probably foolish to indulge him, but she was at a complete loss for how exactly to handle him. 

“Something’s there. I can feel it.” 

“Something’s there? Wait, are you psychic?” She asked, her hands falling back to her side. 

“What? No. Yes. Maybe,” He replied, his words rushing together. 

She shouldn’t let him go. She _really _shouldn’t let him go. But then again, when your local fake psychic detective goes missing, maybe you’re supposed to do the things you shouldn’t do. “Okay, fine. But you’re going to do is exactly as I say, and you can’t touch _anything_.”__

__He didn’t so much respond as he did walk out the door._ _

__

__

__Shawna was beginning to lose time—or lose track of time, she couldn’t remember which one it was. She was alone, or at least she thought she was. She had lost all sense of her surroundings, her vision fading from blood loss. Her entire body wasn’t just in pain, it was like it became pain, like her physical existence was made up of the feeling. But maybe that was just he lack of blood flow to the brain talking.  
She shook her head and grit her teeth. Now was her chance to escape._ _

__This was going to hurt._ _

__She began to rub her wrist against the rope, pulling them apart every once in a while and twisting her wrists to try and find some give. There was none, and her strength was limited as it was, but she kept doing it anyway. Rubbing away her skin and then pulling on the rope. There was a distinct sting that accompanied it, but dang it, she needed to create a lubricant. A very gross lubricant that would make Gus pass out if he was there, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers._ _

__And while she continued the menial task, she began to think._ _

__She had to be somewhere secluded—he _wanted_ to hear her scream, and the only way he could enjoy that is if no one was around to hear it. Well, unless she was going to be another Kitty Genovese and this was the Bystander Effect and was it Gus who was always talking about that?—no, focus. _ _

__Seclusion. So she was going to be running for a long time. Or maybe she could hot wire a car._ _

__Never mind. One step at a time._ _

__When her wrists were rubbed raw and she could feel blood oozing down her wrist, she caught the rope on the back of the chair and pulled._ _


	20. Jackal mode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been way too kind to me. Thank you all for encouraging me to keep writing--hopefully I can pick up the pace on updates. As always, welcome to another late night crazed episode of Shawna Spencer!

The normal, slow pace of the night shift had been replaced with something that could only be described as furious—night patrols were searching for someone or something but had no idea what they were looking for. And how would they? It wasn’t like they had any psychic inclinations to follow. Gus wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse that there never had been any psychic nonsense, just a girl and her genius (and his genius too, for the record). Wasn’t there anyone who could step up…?

But wallowing in misery wasn’t helping anyone. Instead, he stepped on the gas. His first thought was that he would give hell to whoever tried to stop him, but his second thought was that this operation needed a special touch. 

_Jackal mode._

The ride took way longer than it should have—at least in his mind. But he got there, just to find the police station already crawling with people. Still, he could do this. 

He reached into his glove apartment and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, despite the fact that the sun was still barely out. “Okay,” he said, slipping on his glasses while he looked in the rearview mirror, “you can do this. You’re the jackal.” Remembering when Shawna had asked him to be goofy to keep her head in the game, he tried to turn his lip on the right side to give his signature “playa” smile, but he couldn’t quite put his heart into it, so he cleared his throat and nodded seriously. “Okay,” he whispered, taking another deep breath and wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. “You can do this. For Shawna.” 

Immediately upon exiting the blueberry, he flattened himself completely against the car, peeking out over the side to survey the landscape. A few cops with cups of coffee hurrying up the steps, and a few others rubbing their eyes as they exited their patrol cars, clearly the worse for the wear after a long night. In other words, it wasn’t exactly an impressive crowd. Still, that didn’t keep him from ducking in between the bushes, staying low to the ground and on his toes to hide from the cops who were definitely not looking for him. 

There were several factors that were working for him besides the fact that all of the police officers—beat cops and detectives alike—needed more than a strong cup of coffee. One was that Shirley was at the front desk, the superstitious cop that Shawna had been working over and through since the beginning. And second was that Devers, who was cataloguing in evidence, had since also been won over by Shawna’s wily charms. 

But Gus still had to carry this out exactly the right way. 

He slunk to the front desk, clearing his throat in what he thought was a covert manner to get the officer’s attention. “Gus!” She said, smiling brightly before her face immediately darkened. “I heard about Shawna. I am so sorry—” 

_Act like Shawna._

He winced, his entire body crumpling in on itself. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said, half-moaning. “I just—I think Shawna’s trying to connect with me.” 

Shirley was immediately on her feet, her mouth dropped open. “You’re psychic too?” She said, her tone hushed, but not enough to keep an officer passing by from rolling their eyes. 

“No, no, it’s her—somehow she’s getting a message to me,” he said, adding a high-pitched squeak at the end for good measure. “She’s telling me I need to—I need to look at her phone.” 

“Where’s her phone?” she asked in awe.

“It’s in evidence. Can you help me?” 

“For Shawna? Yes,” Shirley said, already grabbing her keys which were jangling too loudly for Gus’s comfort. 

Especially when the SPBD’s doors clanged shut and an extremely angry voice said, “I want a list of new residents within that five square mile radius I showed you, and I want it yesterday, got it?” 

It was Lassiter. 

And because it was Lassiter, Gus had a very small window to pull this off. In this case, quite literally, as he dove through the window on the front desk, just barely missing Shirley’s lap as he tumbled to the floor. 

It was really a wonder that Lassiter didn’t get whiplash from how fast he turned his head towards the crash. “What the hell was that?” 

“I just dropped something,” Shirley said, her tone matching Lassiter’s irritation, except she added that certain Shirley element that called upon all the angry mamas who had come before her. 

“For the love of God,” Lassiter groaned, but he kept walking. 

Meanwhile, Gus thought his lips were turning blue from how long he had been holding his breath. 

“It’s okay,” Shirley said, leaning down and whispering conspiratorially, “he’s gone. Was he giving you trouble?”

The only thing Gus could manage to do was nod his head. 

Once Lassiter had sat on his desk, cursing as some poor rookie scrambled to get him coffee, Shirley stood up, sending a venomous glare at the back of the detective’s head for good measure. “Okay,” she said, jerking her head up. “Let’s go.” 

Gus jumped up and had to physically restrain himself from straight out sprinting to the evidence room. Instead, he hunkered down again, slinking behind Shirley, who walked in such a way that it practically dared anyone to stop her. No one did. 

It took a few seconds of more key jangling that still made Gus jumpy, but the two were in the evidence room, where Devers was still cataloguing. “What are you—”

Shirley whipped her hand up, her charm bracelets clanking against each other. “We need Shawna Spencer’s phone,” she said, glaring at the poor officer who found himself scrambling to obey her—despite the fact that she was not in fact his superior. 

“Yeah, just finished going through her stuff. It’s right here. Did something happen?” 

“She’s been sending a message to Gus,” She whispered back, which spurred on a hushed conversation underlaid with tones of awe at the psychic world, which Gus ignored as he frantically pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. 

_Spencer loml_

There. He remembered that contact name—properly, Spencer Reid. He would help. 

_Need help. Shawna abducted._

Send.

“Alright, I got it,” Gus said, his voice hurried as he shoved the phone back into Dever’s hand. “Thanks. She was asking me to contact someone. I got it.” 

“Can they help?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Gus said, nodding his head. 

At least, he hoped to God they could.

 

 

 

Because Spencer Reid lived in Virginia, being three hours ahead of Santa Barbara, he had already been at his desk for some time when his phone buzzed. It was pure coincidence that he happened to look down as he reached to silence it, the name of the contact emblazoned on the screen. 

_Shawna <3 _. He never could bring himself to change it after she broke into his phone to mess with his contacts. But that was only a brief thought that flitted across his mind as he excitedly grabbed his phone. 

_Need help. Shawna abducted._

Spencer Reid had seen a lot. He’d seen prolific serial killers convert empty warehouses into killing factories, seen psychopaths try to embalm people while they were alive, and had seen way too much evidence in the back of a taxi cab to ever think about getting in one. But it was that message that made him want to throw up. 

“Spence, what’s wrong?” JJ leaned over his shoulder, concerned when she saw his face turned ashen white. 

“Oh my god,” she gasped, her hand covering her mouth. 

“You guys?” The commotion had caused Emily to jerk up from her work, but JJ was already sprinting to Hotchner’s office. Irrespective of the fact that Rossi was in a meeting, she vigorously knocked, or rather pounded on the door. “Hotch,” she said, not even waiting for an answer, “Spencer got a text. Shawna’s been abducted.”

It sounded like there was a race to the door before it slammed open, both men almost halfway out the door. “Our Shawna?” Rossi asked. 

She nodded head. “Our Shawna.” 

“In Santa Barbara?” 

“I assume so. We’re going to help her,” JJ said, a request and a demand all at once. 

She didn’t need to demand at all. “Alright. JJ, get in contact with the SBPD. Try and get us in on the case.”

“With all due respect, they’re going to have to physically keep me out if they don’t want me there.” 

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” Rossi responded.

Hotch nodded his head. “Right. For all intents and purposes—wheel’s up in thirty.”


	21. The three letter agency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a plot twist: this chapter was brought to you not just by my colloquial insomnia but also by my evening procrastination and ignoring my mounding responsibilities. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through this crazy ride! Enjoy!

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Lassiter groaned, punching end call even as his arm raised to chuck the phone angrily across the room. But that wouldn’t do any good, and he really didn’t want to have _that_ conversation with the chief again. So, he followed some advice an old colleague had given him—he visualized hitting the phone repeatedly with a sledgehammer. Coincidentally, his old TO was under it. 

He had just barely gotten through the initial reading of his list of new residents when his phone went off. He didn’t even look down at the Caller ID—no one ever called him but O’Hara, or Spencer, after he had ignored her texts for an extended period of time. 

Or last night. 

But he was _not_ going to think about that because that was _not_ conducive to actually getting any work done. And so he answered the phone, fully expecting a report on Daniel Heel. What he got was Jacob Spears, hammering on about how he picked up on the new crime scene on the police radio and wasn’t that that psychic detective? And he was on his way to the scene and he was going to help—needless to say, Lassiter’s respect and goodwill for the guy was going down by the second. Turned out, his old TO was nothing more than a glory hog trying to relive his cop days. The only good news was maybe he could be pawned off on Henry Spencer. 

Regardless, it was a complication he didn’t need. 

What he needed was Shawna. 

Shawna would know how to solve this. She would wiggle her hips and flutter her fingers, maybe add a dance for good measure, and then she would circus her way through the big reveal. But she wasn’t there, and that left a strange feeling in his gut. The one person who was supposed to be untouchable suddenly wasn’t. And it was _Shawna._

As if that wasn’t enough, everything just was way too loud. “Stevens, if you click that pen one more time, I swear to God I will bring you down to the gun range so I can make your death look like an accident!” He hissed at the unwitting detective, who shrank slightly back in his seat. On another day he may have challenged Lassiter. Just not that day. 

“Lassiter!” Chief Vick stepped out of her office, her face almost as frustrated as Lassiter’s was. Almost. 

Lassiter bit back a groan as he got up, his fists bunched by his sides. The last thing he needed was to have a heart to heart with the Chief—he needed to get stuff done, not talk about it.

The door very nearly slammed behind him, and he folded his arms over his chest. “Chief?” 

“Did you contact the FBI?” 

Of all the things he had expected Chief Vick to say, that was _not_ one of them. His mouth dropped slightly open as he leaned forward. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I just got a call from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit saying they were contacted about our supposed serial killer. Listen, I know you want to find Spencer—” 

“Chief, with all due respect, I see where this is going. And I want to solve this case, not just find a police consultant,” he said, although the words fell flat and the Chief knew it. “But I don’t need the feds getting involved! I can solve this case!” 

“Then who called them? You don’t think it could have been O’Hara, could it?” 

“Oh, I think I know who called them,” he said, his teeth clenched. “Where’s Guster?”

“Mr. Guster? How could he have called them?” she responded, even as she was lifting up her phone. 

“I don’t know, but—” His voice dropped off, and his eyes narrowed. “He was getting really upset about Spencer’s phone being in evidence. He said he needed the contacts.” 

“You’re not suggesting Miss Spencer has the FBI in her contacts?” She scoffed, and Lassiter groaned. 

Right. That was crazy. “No. I don’t know,” he said, running his fingers in his hair in frustration. “No, I don’t think anyone in the FBI would give her the time of day. It must have been something else, I don’t know.” 

Chief Vick’s face softened. “Detective, why don’t you go back to finding her. I’ll handle the feds.” 

Almost numbly, Lassiter nodded his head and left the office, with the Chief looking over at him in puzzlement. She had seen Lassiter worked up over cases. Heck, she had seen Lassiter worked up about _everything_ \--dates, old girlfriends, tax returns, car payments. Somehow, this was different. And she had a feeling the FBI wasn’t going to help.

 

 

 

Henry was a good cop, and no one could tell him different. He was intuitive, and whether Shawna would admit it or not, he wouldn’t let go of the fact that _he_ was the one who gave her her initial skill set. But for all his detective skills, he really didn’t expect to see Jacob Spears show up to the crime scene. 

He moved in such an aggravating way, like he owned the place. To be fair, everything was aggravating Henry, from the crime scene photographer to how they had strung up the crime scene tape. And he knew that he didn’t really care about any of that but his crippling fear and anxiety for his daughter was all consuming, and he just needed _something_ to focus on. It wasn’t like he particularly disliked Spears—they had worked together years before. But his daughter was not the guinea pig case the old man was going to jump back in on.

“Spears, what the hell are you doing here?” Henry said, practically growling. 

“I’m lending a hand, Spencer,” The grizzly man replied, seeming to be completely unbothered by Henry’s tone. “Spencer—was your daughter the victim?” 

And now the softness of the man’s voice was aggravating Henry.

“She’s never been the victim of anything in her life,” he shot back. “She’ll be fine.” 

“I know, I know she will,” Spears replied, breaking the age-old rule of never making promises he couldn’t keep. “I’m just sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. But if you’re going to be here, just help find her.” 

“Of course. So what do we have?” 

“Nothing,” Henry spat. “No one saw anything, no physical evidence, no fingerprints, nothing. Just the time.” 

“The time? How’d you get that?” Spears mused. “I thought no one saw anything.” 

“No, but Shawna was calling Lassiter when she was taken,” he said, clearing his throat. “3:07 A.M.” 

“Well, that’s not nothing,” Spears replied. 

Henry was going to reply, but then Juliet O’Hara walked in through the doorway, with none other than Daniel Heel in tow. Suddenly, he couldn’t care less about Jacob Spears. “Juliet!” He called. “What’s going on?” 

“He insisted on coming here,” Juliet replied, gesturing towards Daniel, who’s gaze seemed oddly transfixed on some point. Despite his complete lack of attention towards either Juliet or Henry, she still felt the need to whisper as she added, “He says he think he might be psychic.” 

“ _Might be psychic?_ ” Henry scoffed. “No, he’s just a kook.” 

“Henry,” Juliet admonished, but she was quickly cut off by Daniel Heel’s shaking finger. 

“Him,” he said, his voice hoarse. “He was the one at my window.” 

At the end of the damning figure was the unwitting Jacob Spears. “What?” Juliet said, her eyes wide. “That’s impossible. He had just barely come into town when Adam was murdered. He was at a banquet that night. He has an airtight alibi.” 

Any other time Henry would have jumped on the fact they were accusing a former cop. 

But this was his daughter. “Check it.”


	22. Continuing the hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies of lovelies! Thank you for sticking with me--and thank you for all the delightful comments! You all keep me writing. Without further ado, here is the next installment in our Shawna saga.

Rope tore into Shawna’s wounded skin as she tugged upward. Then, as she briefly considered the bacteria that must be infecting her body from the grimy rope, she broke free. 

With her newly acquired full range of motion, she twisted in her chair, ignoring the intense pain that bloomed in her body just by the simple movement. So her body was going to feel like hell—better that than literal hell when she was dead. 

There was only one exit, a storm cellar door on the top of wooden stairs. 

Why was she left alone again? 

The good thing about Shawna was that she was capable of having multiple thoughts at once. Gus had said that was because she was neurotic, but regardless, multiple strands of conversation were going through her mind at the same time. The first strand was thinking on the immediate—how to get out. She was certain the doors were going to be bolted shut, and it wasn’t like the thick metal was something she could use one of the gruesome weapons of torture on to bust out. To add to that, the stairs looked worn, the exact kind that would squeak if she put any weight on them. If her captor was nearby, he would hear it. 

The second strand was concerning _why_ she was left alone. The answer was vitally important, because the _why_ could answer the _where_ of her captor. All he probably knew about her was she was a psychic detective, and it could be he just thought she chased ghosts and did cool party tricks—not exactly a skill set tailored for survival. Plus, if he had inserted himself into the investigation, he may have picked up from Lassiter his vocal general view of her, which wasn’t exactly the most flattering. Personally, she thought he had a soft spot for her—or at least that’s what she told herself to keep it from stinging. Why it stung she didn’t want to focus on. No, that wasn’t important. Getting out was important. Her captor could be letting her stew, allowing her to wallow in her own misery. The second option was that he was gone on another killing spree, which left her alone and gave her her best shot. 

She could wait it out, grab a weapon and try and take him when he returned. In her best shape, she might have a shot. But with her current rate of blood loss, it was quite possible she wouldn’t be conscious long enough to even try. She had to get out. She had to risk it. 

She pushed herself up from the chair, her muscles screaming as she limped over to the weapons. She picked up a rusty dagger, a good enough size to be worthwhile and not too big to be cumbersome and hinder her escape. Clutching it like a rosary, she dragged herself to the steps, gently applying weight to the right side. Then a little more weight, and she began her journey up the stairs, quiet as she hugged the wall to stay on the sturdiest part of the steps. 

When she reached the top, she first pressed against the door to see if there was any give.

And that was when she found out there was nothing blocking the storm cellar door. 

A chill settled itself over her entire body, and for one brief second, she froze. In that brief second, she considered the reasons. Reason one, and the more unlikely reason, was that he was incompetent. That didn’t match up with the work he had done and the crime scenes she had scoured. Reason two was that he wanted her to run. He wanted to maximize the psychological torture and hunt her down. 

The kicker was, it was still her best shot. 

She tried not to think as she pushed open the door, but contrary to popular opinion, it was impossible to shut her brain off. She imagined all the ways she was going to get caught, all the ways this was going to end in flames, quite possibly literally. But then again, he was going to torture her anyway. She had nothing to lose. 

The good news was he had to let her gain some ground, to both satisfy his own perverted need and to maximize the effect on her tortured mind. So as she pulled herself out of her dungeon, she took a deep breath, surveyed her surrounding for less than a second—forest everywhere—and then she ran like hell.

 

 

_We have it covered._ Those were the exact words of the Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department. 

_Your department has never dealt with a case like this. We’re only here to help._ Those were the exact words of Jennifer Jareau, former liaison and current criminal profiler. 

_We dealt with Ying and Yang. My department is not incompetent._ The comeback of Chief Karen Vick. 

_We’re not saying you are. We’re only here to help._ JJ, trying to keep the peace, knowing full well that force wasn’t going to get her anywhere. 

What Chief Vick didn’t know—couldn’t know, was that Shawna had been in communication with the BAU, regaling her antics and describing her run ins with various SPBD personnel. Sure, it had taken her awhile to own up to her new gig, but when she did she shared every aspect with her best friends—next to Gus, that is. So JJ knew exactly what the Chief was going to say. 

_Okay._

It wasn’t exactly the warmest welcome, but JJ didn’t need that. She just took the confirmation and ran with it.

And then came the long plane ride from Virginia to California. 

The BAU had seen more of its fair share of perverted cases that would keep the toughest man up at night for years to come. But somehow, the air on the Gulfstream had never seemed so stifling as it did then. 

They poured over the case file, having had very little time to officially brief the case before they all left. They tried to force themselves to focus on it, to think about how they needed to keep a clear mind and work it as if it were a completely regular case. But with a person as vibrant as Shawna, the task was near impossible.

Shawna was nineteen when she joined the BAU, the same time and the same age as Spencer Reid. Unlike Spencer Reid, she had been virtually blackmailed into it. Having accumulated a rap sheet as long as her arm over her vigilantism with her cousin, Hudson Riggs, along with her own rebellion from her father, the FBI offered her an enticing deal to completely wipe her record if she joined them. But yet once she was there, she never held any feelings of resentment. Instead, she smiled brilliantly, her head regularly popping over the divider between her desk and Spencer’s. She dubbed the two of them Spencer Squared, to which he had stuttered out that they would be Spencer times two, not Spencer Squared. She had pouted, and all of a sudden he found himself referring to them as Spencer Squared. 

She was completely unlike him except that they were both considered the “kid geniuses.” She had no college education, he held multiple PHD’s. He was precise, she was impulsive. And yet he found he couldn’t get his mind off of her, couldn’t stop staring at her in wonderment. And then she became his best friend. 

It cut deep when she left, but he was proud of her for having the courage to leave. He didn’t try and stop her, even if he wanted to beg her to stay. It wouldn’t have helped anyway; Shawna was as stubborn as an ox. So he watched her go, his heart tearing just a little as he took in her tear filled smile. 

He wondered if he would ever see that brilliant smile again. His biggest fear used to be a schizophrenic break, but it had quickly become finding Shawna’s body. He didn’t know that a certain head detective found himself having the same thoughts, and it was really for the best that that detective didn’t know there was a kid genius who shared that with him. 

It was different for the others on the team, yet the same at the same time. Rossi worried about losing his de facto daughter, and the rest worried about losing their best friend, including Penelope Garcia, who wouldn’t take no for an answer as she stormed onto the private jet. 

But they would be strong for her. 

They kept pouring over the case file.

 

 

“There is absolutely no way he was at Heel’s window,” Juliet said, groaning in frustration as she leaned back in her chair. “His alibi really is airtight.” 

“I could have told you that,” Lassiter snapped, his finger clutching a pencil so tight it looked like it too could snap. And then it did. “Damn it!” He said, throwing down the barely useful utensil. 

His list of abandoned warehouses had come up with nada, and all of the other secluded places couldn’t exactly be searched, and no judge was going to sign off on a warrant for any of them. Looking into the owners was also useless, because beyond felony charges, which was also virtually useless when it came to obtaining a warrant, he didn’t know what to look for. 

“We have to think bigger. Go back over the timeline,” Henry said behind him, which only made Lassiter clench his teeth. 

“How many times do I have to say this is my investigation!” 

“Well if you were actually doing anything useful than I wouldn’t have to do all the work for you!” Henry shot back, his fists balled. 

“Boys!” Juliet slammed her hand on the desk, her lips scrunched together in her best angry mama face. “You want Shawna to die? Then keep up the in-fighting! If you want to actually help, then quit it and start acting like adults!”

She should have been yelling at Shawna and Gus to act like adults. At least that’s what Gus couldn’t help but think as he paced beside them, racking his own brain for any piece of evidence that would hold the key, the way Shawna would if she was there. But she wasn’t, and he couldn’t think about that, he had to focus, had to think, had to solve this without her, because of course he could, of course he wasn’t useless, no matter what Lassiter said—

But somehow every time he tried his heart seized up as visions of Shawna’s bloody body danced in front of his eyes. He just prayed the BAU would get there quickly. 

For the first time in his life, Henry agreed. If working with the feds got his daughter back, then so be it, his own feelings about the organization and unit be damned.


	23. In a forest far, far away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me in this plot bunny-filled mess! Quick note: this chapter is going to mention a vehicle census of the Santa Barbara area. I could not, in fact, find a census that served my purpose, so I used a national census instead. As always, thanks for reading, lovelies!

If it weren’t for the gruesomeness of the SBPD’s most pressing case, it is quite possible that the coming of the Behavior Analysis Unit would have been the most talked about event of the entire year. As it was, the atmosphere of the Santa Barbara Police Department was electric, and what that meant exactly depended on the person. If you asked Head Detective Lassiter, it was the same kind of electricity that happened during an Old West showdown, not unlike the showdowns that happened on the hour at Old Sonora Town. If you asked McNab, he found the electricity to be utterly nerve-wracking, and most of the members of the BAU found it annoying. 

In all the chaos, no one seemed to notice that the vibrant FBI computer analyst and Gus were holed away together, having taken over the SPBD’s own tech analyst office. The only thing that could be seen when anyone happened to glance into the room was Garcia’s bright pink flower headpiece peeking just over the computers, Gus himself being successfully hidden behind all the equipment. 

“We’re going to find her,” Garcia said, sounding less like she was comforting Gus and more like she was reassuring herself. “And she’s going to be fine. She always is.” 

“I know,” Gus replied quietly, his own eyes glued to one of the many screens. 

“It’s just, we’ve been here before. She’s been caught before, and she always got out just fine.” 

“She’ll get out,” Gus agreed, nodding her head. With a small smile tugging on his lips, he couldn’t help but add, “I don’t know anyone who has as much of a knack for getting into trouble like Shawna.” 

“She’s our loose cannon Lucy,” Garcia replied affectionately, her own smiling mirroring his. For a moment, her smile dropped, and she jerked her head to look at him fully. “Does anyone call her loose cannon Lucy around here?” 

“No, they have other nicknames for her,” Gus replied dryly. 

“Is it that Lassiter? I know she’s told us about him, but she never quite told us how _aggravating_ he is,” she groaned, rolling her eyes just at the thought. “I swear, if I hear him say one bad thing about Shawna, I’m going to hack into some newspaper’s website and print every bad thing I can about him!” 

“Penelope, relax,” Gus grinned. “I mean, the guy’s been less than nice to her before, but he does care about her. It’s pretty obvious.” 

“You don’t mean—”   
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Gus replied, smirking as Penelope waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “There’s just something different in the way he feels about her, you know? I’m not quite sure yet. He’s a really weird guy.” 

“Well, I would like to go on record and say I _do not_ approve,” Penelope sniffed, her hand hovering over the computer mouse. “I don’t like him.” 

“We like him in the ‘weird kid who lives down the street who eats mayonnaise straight from the jar’ kind of way,” Gus quipped, and Penelope smiled genuinely at him. 

“Oh, Gus, I’ve been going on and on about myself, I haven’t asked about you!” She suddenly burst out, gasping. “How are you doing? It must be terrible!” 

“I’ve been better,” He admitted, biting his lip as he looked down. “It’s just—how many times can she take this?” There was a quiet, ominous quality in his voice, and for a moment both were silence, trying to contemplate how much further life could push Shawna Spencer. 

In the floor above them, in the conference room, a disgruntled Detective Lassiter was shoved into the corner of the room as the BAU busily set up their own workplace, case files littered across the table and crime scene photos and maps stuck onto boards. “Okay, who exactly called you?” 

“Burton Guster,” SSA Derek Morgan replied, not truly giving Lassiter his full attention as he himself was sorting through police reports. 

“I knew it! I told you!” Lassiter said, whirling around to face a wide-eyed Juliet O’Hara, who only gave him a bewildered expression. “Wait, how was he able to do that?” 

Derek Morgan himself had pretty much had it with the head detective, and it took everything in him not to completely explode. “I imagine he used his cell phone,” he mused, not even looking up at Lassiter. 

Just as Lassiter was about to make a biting remark of his own, Henry Spencer burst into the room, markedly not looking at SSA David Rossi, who was also markedly not looking at him. “Okay, we’ve almost gotten through interviewing everybody on Dexter’s street. A few people said they heard a car, but no one can identify it.” 

“What a huge help,” Lassiter replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually, it could help,” Spencer Reid replied, his own face painfully straight. “If we can positively ID the vehicle as a car instead of a larger vehicle, we can rule out approximately 46.6% of vehicles in the Santa Barbara area.” 

“And how could you possibly know that?” Lassiter retorted. 

Just as Spencer opened his mouth to explain “basic statistics,” Morgan shook his head. “Don’t ask.” 

“And you still haven’t answered my question. How was Gus able to contact you?” 

It was Emily Prentiss he jumped in, having bemusedly been witnessing the entire conversation go down. “He said that Miss Spencer was able to psychically get a message to him and give him Reid’s phone number. Beyond that, we have no idea,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. 

As far as explanations went, it definitely fit in with the numerous other hokey descriptions that had come in from the Psych Detective Agency. As such, he only slightly scowled, eyes drawn again to the board as it came together. 

“I’m so sorry, my partner is—” Juliet’s voice trailed off, her eyebrows knit together trying to think of another explanation for the generally grumpy man. “What we’ve been meaning to say is we want to help you in anyway we possibly can.” 

“Thank you Detective O’Hara.” Hotch gave her a half smile, and she smiled back, relieved to get some sort of positive reaction out of the criminal profilers—despite her partner’s work. Even Henry Spencer seemed to be icy towards the team, much to O’Hara’s chagrin. And Gus—well he had disappeared to God knows where, and it felt like she was the only one giving any sort of effort to bring everyone together. The only thing that kept her going was thinking of Shawna, and she took a deep breath to collect yourself. 

“Can I get anything for you?” She asked Hotch, who had since returned to sifting through files.

“Just a second,” Hotch said, somewhat apologetic as he flipped his phone open. “JJ?” 

From the other side of the line, the blonde criminal profiler said, “I think I’ve got something.” 

 

 

In a forest that was farther away than Shawna wanted it to be (so far away to a heavily bleeding and bordering on dying Shawna that it may as well have been a galaxy far, far away), the police consultant self-entitled head psychic detective found herself bravely facing the elements and combating a dastardly villain who’s villainous plans involved ending humanity. 

Or at least, that’s the commentary that went on Shawna’s head. Granted, it was getting more disjointed as time went on, but the more gusto she put into it, the more she could focus on something other than the numerous stab wounds. 

The first order of business was to figure out where she was. But that was easier said than done—she felt so light-headed, and it took all her effort just to stay upright. Her father had taught her than when you’re being chased, run in zig zags—but when she wasn’t even completely sure he was behind her, and when she was trying desperately to figure the way out, the only purpose it would serve would be to disorient her. Still, she strained to hear any sounds, the snap of a twig, the rustle of a branch, all the while worried that he would make no sound before overtaking her. She needed to get out. She wasn’t going back to that torture chamber, she was going forward to Gus, to Juliet, to Lassiter, to Chief Vick and all of the SPBD and the Psych office and _Gus_. 

She stumbled, groaning as she clutched onto her stomach, blood seeping through her shirt. She needed to apply pressure, or she wasn’t going to live long enough to even try to run. 

This was also easier said than done, since all she had were the clothes on her back, which she was no longer going to have. 

She ripped off her shirt, beginning to tear the fabric into strips to attend to her worst wounds. First, around her stomach. She sucked in her breath while wrapping the fabric around herself and tying tightly, all while pushing against the wound with her hand. Next, a leg wound. She repeated the process, remembering everything Gus had ever said about first aid. But things like cleansing and elevating the wound went out the window when she was running for her life. So maybe she was going to lose a few limbs. The important thing was to focus on one fact-- _she was going to live._

In a part of the forest that wasn’t far, far, away, a twig snapped.


	24. Two houses down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really has been a hot minute, hasn't it? Thanks for sticking around anyway. Between surgery and moving, my plate's been full. As a result, this chapter is short, and largely unedited, but I present it to you anyway, if nothing else than to keep the story going.

Henry Spencer had combed the backyard for anything that could possibly give him even a shred of hope that he could find his daughter. 

What he hadn’t done was comb the yard two houses down.

JJ hadn’t spent long in the house itself, instead finding herself on the street directly in front. The assailants carried Shawna—not dragged, or they would have been more of a trail left behind—to the front yard, where the truck was waiting out front. Put her in the backseat. Drove off. Went left. 

How did the truck wake people up when it drove people out and not when it drove in? 

More importantly, how did Shawna not hear it? 

Answer—it didn’t drive in. It was already there. It had been there, probably since Shawna had taken the job at Ralph Dexter’s house. 

She walked down the street, scanning the drive ways as she passed them. And it was the driveway two houses down that caught her eye. 

It was the only house on the road the police couldn’t canvas, because there was no one home. The neighbors had explained the home was owned by an elderly woman, Samara Shaughnessy, who had been off visiting her son that week. But as JJ passed it, she noticed something very strange. All of the front windows were smudged or fogged, a mixture of paw prints, humidity and morning dew. 

Then who cleaned the window on the side of the house? 

It looked like it was apart of the attic, and it was perfectly clean, or at least appeared so from her vantage point. It may not have been the strongest lead, but if the Lindbergh baby’s killer could be caught based on the wood of a ladder, then maybe Shawna could be found with this. 

 

 

The problem with a clean window was that it didn’t make a compelling case for a warrant. So as the gang was gathered around in the conference room, Gus knew what he had to do. 

“I can’t get in touch with the son. I have an address, and a phone number—I even have his e-mail, and he won’t pick up,” Penelope said while wringing her hands. 

“Okay. I’ll take care of it,” Gus said, jumping up from his seat beside her. 

“What are you going to do?”

“Probably best if you don’t ask,” Gus said, giving her a weak smile. 

Maybe the Santa Barbara Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigations couldn’t get in, but a pharmaceutical salesman from West Coast Pharmaceuticals and part time private investigator for Psych Detective Agency was going to. 

With all of the hubbub surrounding the Dexter house, no one paid any attention to the Blueberry as it was parked across the street. And no one noticed as Burton Guster stood on the front porch two houses down with the lock picking set he had picked out from his monthly locksmith magazine. 

“Come on, Gus,” he said to himself, his lips scrunched together as he began by inserting what appear to be a long, grooved needle. “You can do this.” 

The lock itself was fairly cheap, a standard house lock that could be thwarted by carding the door if necessary. So with Gus’s semi-professional tools, the latch let go very easily and the door swung open. If only what lay on the other side of the door was that easy. 

The first thing Gus noticed was the overwhelming smell. It was so overpowering that his eyes started watering, and he involuntarily began to gag. He didn’t need the super sniffer to know what that smell was.

He didn’t look to see if anyone was watching or if anyone was even around as he raced through the house. He didn’t pay attention to any minute clues or any hidden fingerprints. He just followed the scent. It lead him to a food pantry in the kitchen, where the smell of jams was permanently ruined by the decaying body of the elderly woman from two houses down. 

 

Turns out, a torn up shirt didn’t make for the best gauze. She tried to keep pressure on the wound on her stomach, but blood seeped through nonetheless. Had her tormentor been more professional, he could have been more precise with his strokes, making short, shallow cuts that killed while not letting out enough blood to actually kill her. But he lacked that precision, and Shawna stumbled over her own feet, her vision swimming. 

She had to get up. She needed to get up, needed to keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…

Where was she? 

She couldn’t have been too far out. It didn’t match—didn’t match the geographic profile. Had she made a geographic profile? Think—she closed her eyes, just for a second. She could see the map of Santa Barbara, the scenes of the crime. They weren’t far from each other, and Bonnie and Clyde weren’t done. They weren’t leaving town until the pattern was complete, until they had fulfilled each textbook kill.   
Bonnie was precise. And together, they were also escalating. They weren’t going back into hiding now. 

She wasn’t far from Santa Barbara. But she needed to be smart about this. 

Breathe. Focus. 

_How many hats were in the room?_

It was an old game her father had made her play, and there weren’t exactly any hats in the forest. But the principal was still the same, so she closed her eyes. Where had she seen this place before? This cabin? These trees? 

Everywhere. They were the same trees, the same places, the same dirt, the same plants, the same moss. 

_Snap._


	25. The profile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for all of the positive comments. You guys keep me writing! Hopefully this next installment in our Shawna saga will live up to expectations!

Juliet loved being a cop. She loved being a detective. She loved helping people and keeping the community safe. 

But she hated this. 

This was different than a serial killer playing cat and mouse. This was a ruthless game that left people decapitated in its wake, and the psychopaths that had orchestrated it had Shawna. It was the last part that made her sick to her stomach, and even if she tried to keep a poker face to do her job, she felt like she constantly wanted to throw up. 

And now there was the BAU to deal with, acting as if every dead body was nothing more than a clue, like fingerprints on a glass. It was sick, and even if their methods worked and she had no real reason to be mad at them, she found herself mad anyway. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to the intensities of emotion as she thought she was. 

While a forensics team was scouring the lower floor and the food pantry, Juliet, Lassiter, Henry, Gus, JJ and Morgan were gathered in the attic. The heat was stifling and the thick air overwhelming, so the door had to stay open just so the team could breathe. The space itself was littered with all sorts of knick-knacks collected over Samara Shaugnessy’s lifetime—Christmas decorations, lights, an old rocking horse kept in hopes of grandchildren, plastic pumpkins and worn out suitcases all among the various items kept in the attic. 

None of that was of any real interest to the team, although Juliet found herself looking over it anyway, as if _someone_ needed to see this poor woman’s life as more than just a clue. But then she had to discard those thoughts too, because she needed to find the killer. She needed to find Shawna. 

The most intriguing spot in the attic for the team was the window itself. It was neatly cleaned and offered a perfect view to the backyard of Ralph Dexter’s house. 

“So, our unsub comes into the house, killls Samara Shaugnessy, and then begins to terrorize Ralph Dexter by breaking in and leaving messages around the house,” JJ said, still fixated on the window. 

“The unsub chooses Dexter because he lives alone,” Morgan continued. “And then he chooses to make Dexter think the house is haunted in order for Dexter to hire Psych Detective Agency.” 

“Hold on,” Lassiter said, his gruff voice jarring both out of their careful reverie. “Are you telling me that our killers planned on taking Spencer out from the very beginning? Even before she even got involved in the case?” 

“It makes sense,” JJ said, offering a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Our unsub is precise—everything he does is carefully planned. He would already have known about Shawna—Spencer,” she said, the briefest of pauses in between her first and last name that neither Juliet or Lassiter picked up. “So, because of her track record, he needs to take her out before he can finish the job.” 

“But why Spencer?” Lassiter said, clearly exasperated. The reason for the question was two-fold; one being that despite everything, he still felt an overwhelming urge to defend the SPBD’s work as well as his own in the face of the aggravating psychic detective. The second was far more personal and one that he didn’t feel like examining too closely in fear of what he would find. 

“Because she’s good,” JJ said, glaring for one moment at the head detective before moving on. “So, the real question is, why didn’t the son call?” 

“Because he did it. He’s Bonnie,” Gus said, his voice rising slightly in excitement. 

“Bonnie?” Morgan’s eyebrows lifted in confusion, and Juliet could have sworn she saw his lips quirk upward ever so slightly. 

“Oh, sorry.” Gus’s cheeks colored after his outburst, and he cleared his throat. “Shawna was just talking about the whole dominant and submissive relationship the killers had. We nicknamed it Bonnie and Clyde.” 

“Okay.” There. Juliet knew for sure that Morgan’s lips twitched upward, and even Lassiter observed it with no little amount of disdain. “That’s definitely the most reasonable possibility. No matter what, we need to find that son.” 

“Kyle Shaugnessy,” Gus interjected. 

“Yeah, we’ve got some detectives on the way,” Lassiter said. 

Meanwhile, Henry Spencer couldn’t stop staring out the window. 

Some psychopath had sat up in that attic, watching his daughter. Watching her as she swam in Ralph Dexter’s pool, because of course she would be swimming in the house she was working in, watching her as she went outside that night, planning out her demise. Because that was how this ended, didn’t it? They—the unsubs, the dominant and submissive ones, Bonnie and Clyde, whatever it was they wanted to call it—they would never let her go alive. 

But he also knew his daughter, and he knew she was going to give them hell. 

“All right,” Henry said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, we have a lead with a son. We still need to find where she is. We know she’s probably in the vicinity, and they kept her alive for a reason. What do they need?” 

“Information? Figure out where we are in the investigation?” Gus suggested. 

“Probably not. With their set up, they don’t need to kidnap her to get information,” Morgan replied, all traces of a smile leaving his lips. “Listen, Shawna isn’t in the pattern. She’s a functional piece. To be honest, the reason they’re keeping her alive is probably to be satisfied through torture.” 

“Satisfied? Like sexually?” Lassiter said, the thick tone of disdain thinly veiling the very real threat of becoming sick from the oncoming nausea. 

“Yeah. Look, I’m really sorry,” Morgan said, and for once Lassiter didn’t bother arguing how much Shawna is worth to him. And truthfully, there wasn’t a single person in the room whom the truth didn’t weigh heavily on—both JJ and Morgan were just as invested in the investigation as Juliet and Lassiter, even if they didn’t know it. “We’re going to find her.” 

“Not if we keep standing around here. Come on, we’re wasting daylight,” Henry said, turning around and running down the stairs. 

“Alright. It’s time to deliver the profile,” JJ said. 

 

The entire station was attentive as the Behavior Analysis Unit stood at the front of the room, an imposing team that seemed to assert a new kind of environment on the place. “Our unsubs are working as a team,” Emily said, her hands raised and clasped in front of her. “The dominant one is an older white male. He’s narcissistic, and most likely uses his submissive partner in to boost his ego. He’s going to have some kind of background with law enforcement or criminology, allowing him to be able to create a scene that is reminiscent of textbook serial killers. He has successfully completed two of four scenes, and he’s not going to leave before he’s completed his pattern. It’s also very likely that the dominant partner is going to insert himself into the investigation to continue enjoying the thrill of the kill. Our submissive is going to be a young white male, likely in his twenties or early thirties. He’s socially awkward, and desires the mentor relationship with the dominant partner, even if it’s abusive. He will probably rely on the dominant partner in any kind of social situation. He’s going to be used as the muscle and will do anything for his dominant partner.” 

“It’s important not to draw too much attention from the media. Right now, he believes that everything is going according to plan and he has plenty of time,” Spencer continued, forcing himself to keep still even if he wanted to pace back and forth, anything to keep moving. “If he believe otherwise, he will probably escalate to finish his scenes in time. He will also kill Shawna Spencer.” There it was. He was supposed to keep composed, because he wasn’t supposed to know Shawna, because that was what she wanted for now. She wanted a present that wasn’t drenched in the blood of her past, and he would do anything for her. But the idea that Shawna Spencer could die was more than he could handle. For a brief moment, his façade fell, and if it was anyone other than Shawna Spencer, the astute detectives of the SBPD would have seen. But most of them were in just as much turmoil as he was, Shawna having engrained herself in their lives. So they didn’t see, and Spencer was alone in his moment of grief. 

Except he wasn’t. Because in that moment, JJ slipped her hand into his and squeezed.


	26. Like Father Like Daughter, Like Father Like Son

It had never been a fair fight. Shawna--clever, brilliant, Shawna--had lost enough blood that she was bordering on delirious, her greatest asset fading with each clouded thought. And she could barely keep herself upright, let alone fight.

But she would be damned if she didn't try.

_Snap._ The sound echoed like a shot through the air, although that may have just been because of the throbbing in her ear. 

She spun around, eyes wide as she saw the man not fifty feet from her. She had known he was there, but the actual sight of him seemed to compound the truth that she wasn’t going to make it. He had put the bag back on his face, wielding a bloody cleaver so he looked like a deranged scarecrow. In earlier days, it would have been the perfect ghost story.

Now he was just an opponent.

_A weapon is always only an arm's length away._

She had been ten when her father had told her that. And here, almost twenty years later, she was remembering it like it was yesterday. It appeared that it was going to be one of the few times she followed his advice. 

As it turned out, there wasn’t a Glock nearby, but there was a substantial looking stick that she made a dive for. Just as he raised the cleaver over his head to bring it down to her body, she blocked it by smacking the stick against its handle, and they were caught in their own choke hold, him pressing down and her pressing up, blood and sweat pooling around her from the exertion, knowing if she failed, if she let her quivering muscles get the best of her, it was going to be lights out. 

But if it was going to be lights out, might as well go with style. “We have got to stop meeting like this. Ever heard of a dinner date?” she said, her snark markedly less convincing as she gasped for air between every word. It was of no use, though, it was like the oxygen had been sucked out of the entire forest, her deprived body crumbling with every second. 

Her opponent growled, and, not one to be outdone, just pressed against her stick harder, waiting for her to yield or the stick to break.

She wasn’t going to beat him through mere strength. The exertion alone made her feel light headed, like she was going to pass out. But she was smarter than him. 

She dropped the stick to her side, and as he stumbled forward, she swung the stick around and hit his neck with everything she had in her. He crumpled against himself, and while the breath was knocked out of him, she grabbed a hold of the cleaver, kneed his diaphragm and then subsequently brought her elbow down on his spine. His weapon dropped from his hand, and, adrenaline pumping through her, she forced him to the ground, her foot pressed against his neck, dropping down and using all of her body weight to hold him down. She shifted forward, clutching onto his bloody weapon of choice, and with shaking hands, held it against the back of his neck. “Now,” she said, her voice as shaken as her hands, “why don’t you tell me who your partner is?” 

The man laughed, a cold, evil, manic sound that filled the forest and seemed to drown Shawna. “You don’t even have the strength to hurt me,” he said, his voice only somewhat muffled from the bag and being pressed against the ground.

She gripped the handle until the pads of her fingers and her knuckles turned white, tears gathering in her eyes. So many questions raged in her mind, but the one that came to the forefront was—could she? 

If she did, if she gathered all her strength, the façade that she had so carefully built around herself would crumble. The front she had put on for the Santa Barbara Police Department would be gone, and she would be left standing in its ashes. The very thing she was running from would awaken from her nightmares, and she didn’t know who would survive it. 

Once upon a time, she had been strong enough. Once upon a time, her clothes were stained with the blood of her guilty victims, their evil reeking even from their corpses. It was always justified, at least in the beginning. But after _that_ day—the day that changed everything—she felt it chipping her away. 

If she did this, how much of herself would be left? 

She closed her eyes, her lips trembling as she tried to concentrate. There would be nothing left of her if she _didn’t._

_Snap._

She didn’t have time to think, she just raised her hand, praying with everything in her that she would be okay, that she would see the other side, that she wouldn’t have to live with Juliet’s tearful gaze or Gus’s anxiety, watching her and monitoring everything she did, just to know she would make it through the night. She didn’t want to live with her dad trying to make up for all the time he had failed, or even Lassiter’s side glances, when he thought he couldn’t see her but yet was always there, just in the corner of her eye. 

She didn’t get a chance to find out. Her wrist was caught from the body behind her, twisting her arm painfully and shoving her off, spots appearing in front of her vision from the back of her head slamming against a rock, leaving her unable to clearly see the dominant partner of the fatal dancers that were Bonnie and Clyde. 

 

 

 

Penelope Garcia was a storm of color as she ran through the Santa Barbara Police Department, her eyes as wild as her hair which had dislodged itself from the fluffy scrunchies that had held it in two pigtails. In her hand, a piece of paper fluttered with every frantic step, until finally she burst into the conference room. “Jacob Spears is the father!” 

“What?” Lassiter huffed, anger interlacing his voice as he looked up from the map of Santa Barbara that he had been drawing over in a desperate attempt to find where Shawna was hidden away. 

“He’s the father of Kyle Shaughnessy! He was the father, and it was covered up, but I found it,” she said, her voice a mixture of excitement and anxiety. “He grew up with just his mom, but Jacob Spears is the father.

“And his coworkers said that he started acting strangely a year ago. It would make sense if he reunited with his father,” JJ said, her eyes widening, almost imperceptibly. 

“Which would also explain his increased agitation,” Rossi cut in. “So, he meets up with his father, who lures him into his killing spree.” 

All of the blood had drained from Lassiter’s face, and the map crinkled underneath his fingers as he squeezed. “So those are our perps? Kyle Shaughnessy and Jacob Spears?” 

“Jacob Spears came back to insert himself into the investigation,” Morgan continued, almost ignoring Lassiter altogether. 

When Henry saw the old member of the force, he was going to kill him. “When was the last time we saw him?” 

“Yesterday,” Lassiter stuttered, already jumping up. 

Henry laid his head in his hands, just trying to think. His breath caught, and his head snapped up. “I know where they are.” 

Just those words caused the entire gang to leap up, a whirlwind of activity as they prepared to leave. “Where?” Lassiter asked gruffly.   
“An old hunting cabin,” Henry replied hurriedly. “It’s perfect. Secluded and close to the crimes. 

No one needed be told twice. The sirens were deafening as two SUV’s and Lassiter’s Ford squealed out of the parking lot, racing along the street just to reach Shawna in time.


	27. He Started the Fire

Shawna hated math.

It wasn't that she _couldn't_ do it; on the contrary when she applied herself even the least bit, she had always easily been at the top of the class. It was the applying herself part that she hated, and as a result she rarely did it.

Like most math students, some of her least favorite problems involved two trains on the same track and a supposed inevitable collision. Yet, she found herself trapped inside a very similar problem.

Racing to the outskirts of Santa Barbara, the BAU and SPBD were pushing eighty miles an hour. Within the forest, two serial killers and one psychic detective were going substantially slower--in fact, they were not moving at all. But the question remained the same--when would the two intersect based on current trajectories, and would it be on time for Shawna Spencer?

Shawna blinked rapidly, trying to get the black dots to stop dancing in front of her vision. After a few moments, she could make out the older, wizened face staring down at her, his lips switching between turning up and turning down as if he couldn't decide whether to smile evilly or scowl. The scowl was scarier, Shawna decided, because quite frankly his smirk was corny. "Lassie's TO," she said, grimacing as she tried to get on her elbows. "I didn't know role playing was on the schedule."

"You failed," he replied, his right hand pointing a gun directly between her eyes. "I beat you." His smirk than changed on its natural rotation to a frown, and he looked down at his fallen partner. "Oh, for God's sakes, get up, you imbecile!"

"I was playing with her," he replied, southern drawl becoming more distinct as she noticed desperation tinging his voice.

"And because of you Lassiters going to be on our tails! This is your fault, and you're going to fix it!"

"How?" He asked, his mouth hanging up.

Spears reached into his pocket, revealing a substantial tin flask. He didn't say anything as he leered over her, unscrewing the cap and tipping it over.

She may not have had the super sniffer, but she didn't need it to recognize the saccharine smell as it poured over her. Gasoline.

Nausea swept over her, and she bolted up, only to be met with Spears' boot coming down on her sternum with bone crushing strength. Suddenly she was gasping for air, but whenever she breathed all she could smell was the gasoline that soaked through her clothes.

At the cabin, the police and FBI parked, momentarily pausing the math problem and prolonging the time until intersection. Lassiter hadn't even fully gotten out of the car before yelling "SPBD!" But even when they banged on the door, there was no answer. 

"I can kick it down," Henry said, desperation beginning to cloud his judgement.

"And then you can consider every piece of evidence you find useless in court," Rossi replied, although his voice was barely above a growl.

Henry wanted to snap back at him, but he was right, so he settled for just a scowl. 

Spencer was having none of the quarreling. Not with Lassiter, not with Henry, and not with Rossi. He came to find Shawna. And it was in this spirit that he began to walk towards the storm cellar door.

_Blood._

“I’ve got something!” He yelled, bending down to the tinge of red that had dripped over the door.

They ran to him, all of them desperate. “She got out,” Henry breathed out, his eyes wide. “Where would she go?” They all turned, and for a moment Gus let the huge expanse of the forest overwhelm him.

But then he set his lips in a firm line. “Let’s split up so we can cover more ground.”

“Stay with us, Guster," Lassiter said, grabbing onto Gus's shoulder none too gently as they all ran to the forest, cries for Shawna cutting in to the relative cool provided by the foliage.

Soon, their voices would carry to where two serial killers and one Shawna Spencer were, but for the moment all Shawna could hear was the distinct snapping of the cigarette lighter and the crackling of the flame that leapt to life. She didn't think a single flame had ever been so mesmerizing, a catalyst begging to spread to the gasoline spread over her body.

"I really do wish I could have gotten to know you better," Jacob Spears said, grinning salaciously down at her. The lock on the lighter clicked into place, then slipped between his fingers.

As it turned out, Shawna's piercing scream reached Henry Spencer and Spencer Reid before theirs reached hers, and it struck them both to their very core, like a spear made of ice had buried itself into their hearts. “Shawna!” Spencer screamed back, his young, long legs only advantaging him slightly over Henry as he raced towards his daughter. The forest became nothing more than a blur, the boy genius and the retired cop relying on instincts to follow where her voice had been, a wavelength that had ceased but who’s ghost was still there. Unconsciously, Spencer was working to place the voice with trajectory and the volume with distance, his feet leading him where his mind surmised of their own accord. 

A spark of hope lit in Shawna’s heart as she heard the voices. But then that mesmerizing flame hit her body, as she was held down by the man in the canvas bag. The fire seemed to ensconce her instantly, the intense pain lighting every wound and for one macabre second, she wondered if the flames were santizing the wounds. But then she couldn’t think, except she had to, she had to survive, she was so close, she could make it...someone had screamed her name. They were coming for her. 

She summoned all of the strength in her and some she didn’t have to roll herself over, ignoring the way it felt like her skin was being burned and melted apart with every movement. But then there was a boot on her chest again, pinning her to the ground and sentencing her to hell. 

The flames began to lick up his own leg, although she couldn’t properly pay attention to him at all. Still, it is worth noting that the man who wore the canvas bag over his head, Kyle Shaugnessy, was pinning down his father’s kill while dear old dad fled into the forest. He gritted his teeth, letting out a muffled scream. He stumbled, trying to reach for his meat cleaver. His calves were then postrate against Shawna’s chest, pressing down against her as he reached for his chosen tool. Hot. Everything was hot, everything burned, but Kyle, who had always felt pain differently, didn’t care. Clutching the wooden handle, he scrambled back up, the flames licking up his entire body just as it did Shawna’s, and raised the weapon directly over her head. 

“Drop it!”   
He looked over to see Spencer Reid, gun raised as Henry ran towards his daughter, his throat growing dry as he continued screaming her name. Kyle looked Spencer directly in the eye and began his downward swing. 

Spencer didn’t hesitate. Every instruction given by Shawna in the FBI’s gun range, the girl genius twinkling her eyes at him in _that way_ that made him believe he could and would do everything for her, instantly filled the forefront of his mind. Kyle Shaugnessy fell over with three bullets directly between the eyes, the cleaver falling over with him. 

_Stop, drop, and roll._ But she was fighting unconsciousness, and in a delirious moment she wondered what kind of firework she would look like. 

Someoene was beating cloth against her, screaming at her to hang on, ripping off her gas soaked clothes and doing the rolling for her. There were two, actually, she thought, and as she realized the flames were no longer physically present, someone was holding her to him. 

She knew that touch. 

If she could have smiled, she would have, and if she could have opened her eyes, said his name, anything, she would have. But he seemed to know that, like he always did, and he whispered, “Hang on for me, okay Shawna?”


	28. The End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but it may be awhile before I can properly rewrite it. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Love you all! Thank you for all your comments, they keep me writing!

When Shawna woke up from her anesthetic-induced slumber, it was in a hospital bed under thin blankets that had just been taken out of the warmer. Gus, Juliet, Lassiter, and her father were all huddled at the front of the room, whispering among themselves, and for the life of her she couldn't understand what they were saying.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt like sandpaper. She licked her lips to try again, but all she got out was a croak.

This did, however, capture the group's attention, and all of a sudden they were scrambling to her bedside, Gus diving for one of her hands and her father for the other.

"She's thirsty!" It was Juliet's voice, its sweetness laden with undertones of anxiety and relief at the same time. Something unclenched inside of Shawna at the sound, and she smiled weakly. 

"I'll get the doctor," Lassiter said gruffly, disappearing from the room just as Shawna was able to lift her head from its pillow.

Gus opened his mouth, then closed it, his fingers gently rubbing the back of her hand and her wrist. She caught his gaze, and a meaningful look passed between them. Some times, there were no words--even for Shawna. 

Later, she would say she was sorry. Sorry for putting him through this again, and he would say it wasn't her fault, had never been her fault. Then they would see how deep her wounds went together. For now, he kept rubbing her hand.

"Miss Spencer, good to see your awake." The deep voice of the doctor jolted both Gus and Shawna from their thoughts, his smile both wide and genuine as he looked at his patient. A nurse entered behind him lithely, her smile far more matronly as she set a tray in front of her.

"I heard you were thirsty," the nurse said, using a tong to fish an ice chip out of a cup and holding it out to her. Shawna smiled gratefully as she reached up and popped it in her mouth. The cold was like a direct salve to the fire. The fire. She had a sudden, distinct urge to peer under her flimsy hospital gown to take stock, but given her present company, she resisted. She felt a little sore, but whatever was in those IV bags to the right of her seemed to be doing the trick.

"The good news is, there's not going to be any permanent damage. You'll have quite a bit of scarring in your abdominal area, but you can consider plastic surgery in the future. But your initial surgery to stop internal bleeding went well. You'll have to stay off your feet for awhile, but soon you'll be right as rain."

It was one of the few times in her life where Shawna didn't want to speak. It took too much effort, so instead she closed her eyes and continued sucking on her ice chips. Around here, there was still a flurry of activity with the nurse checking her vitals and the doctor running through her recovery plan. He wanted to keep her under observation for a little while longer, she would have to go through physical therapy, but she would be okay. She was always okay.

Eventually, the medical professionals left, and she smiled weakly at the crew around her bed. For a moment, her eyes rested on Lassiter, whose lips were set in a firm line, and she could have sworn, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, there was a flicker of concern in his demeanor.

"Sorry for waking you up, Lassie," She smirked, her voice still dry.

His gaze immediately met hers, and his frown deepened. "I told you you shouldn’t have stayed there.” 

“Carlton!” Juliet snapped, pushing back her partner even though Shawna was still smiling. “Don’t mind him, he’s being an idiot. How are you feeling?” 

“Been better,” She replied dryly. “I think I might be sleeping with night on for a little while.” 

“And you won’t be alone,” Gus said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “You should stay at my place.” 

Shawna hummed non commitally and then sighed. For once, it wasn’t the childish sigh she used to get people’s attention, but a deep overwhelming emotion that bubbled up from her very soul, which, while still intact, had taken a battering over the past few days. It may not have been the first time, but the callouses had just begun to fall off, and metaphysical wounds had no trouble opening up her soft heart. She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to become desensitized again, or vengeful--she didn’t want to lose herself again. Just the idea brought a fresh wave of nausea over her, and her hands trembled the tiniest bit, such a small motion but no one other than her best friend and hyper vigilant cop would notice. She was scared. 

Henry felt the emotion pierce him in his gut, and there was a hint of desperation in him as he gazed at her. As if sensing him, she opened her eyes and met his for a long moment.

There was still a lifetime of hurt and wounds that were healed but not forgotten, still tender even if they were inflicted a decade ago. Her eyes watered, and he found that his did too. He made a big mistake, and she still hurt from him. In that moment, he couldn’t be the one to heal her, even if he wanted to wrap his daughter up after slaying all of the monsters in her closet. But he knew who could. 

He squeezed her hand, taking a step back and clearing his throat. “Hey, listen guys,” he said to the two detectives, “could I have a word?” 

It took a bit of prompting to tear them away from Shawna, but she just smiled at them reassuringly, her heart beating just a bit faster when she realized what her father was going for her. 

The trio had barely rounded the corner when the BAU came running in, Spencer practically tripping over his own two feet as he raced to her bedside. “Shawna,” he breathed out, his eyes wide. 

“Spencer.” She smiled at him--really smiled--and even if the sadness and the fear was still there, it was enough. 

“You scared us half to death, kid!” Rossi said, causing Shawna to tear her gaze away and grin at the disgruntles agent. 

“You told me you thought of me like a daughter. I’m just giving you the full experience!” She replied cheekily. 

“Well can’t you just go out with some bad boys? You can’t do that to me!” Penelope interjected, and Shawna laughed. 

“It’s so good to see you guys again,” Shawna said, her eyes shining as she looked at the group, at her de facto family. “And thanks for keeping my secret.” No one may have told her, but she knew these people, despite their alliances, were the last people who would give you up.

“I mean, it’s pretty unlikely that psychics exist, but then again, with such a large population and an infinite amount of factors, who’s to say they don’t?” Spencer interjected, and Shawna laughed. It may not have been a deep belly laugh, but it was enough to make her cough, and JJ took up the role of nurse as she began to dish out the melting ice chips the nurse had left behind. For Shawna, the healing hadn’t ended, but it had begun, and for the moment, it was enough.


	29. Here's to the girl genius

In a somewhat raucous roadhouse an hour and a half outside of Santa Barbara, the Behavior Analysis Unit, including former member Shawna Spencer and her best friend Burton Guster, were gathered around a long table. Most of the group was already halfway through their beers, although Shawna abstained. Nevertheless, it was not the alcohol that made the group laugh as hard as they did or cause them to grin so hard their lips hurt. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Derek said, beer already halfway to his lips, “you solved an entire case just by faking a séance?” 

“Faking? Derek,” Shawna said, clicking her tongue, “oh ye of little faith.” 

“Okay, hold the theatrics Shawna,” He replied, rolling his eyes. “All I’m saying is I can’t believe you caught a murderer just by buying some kid’s cheap plasma ball.” 

“She didn’t buy it,” Gus interjected, “she stole it from the neighbor kid.” 

“I didn’t steal anything! It was a fair trade. I got to use his fourth-grade science kit, and he got to do a tag along.” 

“Let me guess. You stuck him in Lassiter’s car,” Hotch interjected, his lips quirked upward in a smirk. 

“You know, I’m really surprised the kid didn’t figure it out when I told him to hide behind the seat,” She laughed, and then Penelope broke out in a titter of giggles. “All I know is I would have paid good money to hear his reaction when that kid popped up in the back seat.” 

“You should have asked me. I would have hooked you up,” Penelope winked. “Serves him right. That guy has a stick up—” 

“Penelope!” Shawna gasped, although that too was interrupted with deep belly laughs, which caused another round of laughter around the entire table. It wasn’t that they had suddenly transformed into a group of comedians, but it just felt so _good_ to be back together, the joy had to bubble up somewhere. 

“You know, I think I like the gig you’ve got going on here,” JJ smirked. “You ever need a second psychic, you hit me up.” 

“All you’ve got to ever do is ask,” Shawna said, although Gus elbowed her side.

“Actually, we barely have enough money to pay ourselves,” He said, rolling his eyes.   
“Still not breaking into your pension?” Hotch said, and Shawna shook her head. 

“I will say, it was pretty funny watching your dad bust a cap after finding out you actually did have health insurance,” Gus smirked, and Shawna just shrugged her shoulders. 

“I kind of feel bad that he closed a bank account, but I honestly didn’t think he was going to get that far,” She said. 

“That’s my girl!” Rossi said, grinning mischievously as he held up his beer for a toast. 

“Father,” Shawna gasped, “if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were encouraging me.” 

“It’s like I always said. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” He said, winking at her. 

“That is a _terrible_ parenting style,” Shawna laughed, her eyes starting to water. “All I’m saying is maybe it was good all you have is a fake kid.”

“I raised you well, didn’t I?” He sniffed, swirling his beer like it was an expensive wine. 

“First, we met when I was nineteen, when you guys blackmailed into joining your team, I might add,” she said, struggling to keep her lips straight, “and I now lie to the entire Santa Barbara Police Department and tell them I’m a psychic so they give me cases.” 

“Finding creative solutions to problems, just like I taught you,” He replied. She laughed in reply, for what must have been the thousandth time that night. 

“Okay, hold up,” She said, grabbing onto her water glass, as she tried to even her breathing after her latest fit of laughter, “there’s one thing we haven’t talked about. How many times did Spence make Lassie lose it?” She asked, turning her head to where he was seated beside her, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Lose it is such a strong word,” Spencer replied innocently. “But someone had to take your place, didn’t they?” 

Shawna grinned, and underneath the table she fist bumped him. But then, for a moment, they lingered, hands loosening and fingertips gently brushing against each other. There was no moment of awkwardness, just a knowing glance between them and genuine smiles that held just a hint of sadness.

The moment was broken when Penelope cleared her throat, an eyebrow raised. “Now the real question is, when are you going to be coming home to see me?” 

“Yeah, we need you to see the Shawna Shrine,” Emily said, before knocking back another gulp. 

“The Shawna Shrine?” Shawna grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, do tell me more.” 

“Well, Penelope refuses to let anyone sit at your desk,” JJ said, pointing to the computer analyst in question, “so now it’s just full of pictures of you. And candles, and posters,” she laughed. 

“I’m honored,” Shawna said, reaching across the table to rest her hand on Penelope’s. 

“Well I wouldn’t need to build a shrine if you would just come back and sit at your own desk,” Penelope sniffed, although there was only mirth in her voice. 

“Oh, you don’t need me,” Shawna said, smiling. “I’m sure you already have someone lined up to fill my shoes.” 

“We _always_ need our girl genius,” Hotch said meaningfully, smiling sadly at her. 

“Well, here’s to our girl genius!” Emily said, raising her drink in a toast. Beers, water glasses, and cokes followed suit, with a cacophony of clinks from the glass overwhelming all other sounds. “To our girl genius!” was echoed all around, although Shawna only hummed happily. 

“I know our resident boy genius misses you,” Derek commented innocently, and there was another round of laughter. 

It was the perfect night, and Shawna felt like she had come home. 

Rain had started pelting the building by the time they had finished eating, and if it weren’t for the fact the group had to catch an early flight, they would have hunkered down longer in the restaurant. Instead, there was an echoing of groans around the tables as the checks were paid. When they finally walked to the door, they found that the water was raining down in such thick sheets there was barely any visibility.

“And these boots are suede,” Penelope groaned, her lips tugged downward in a pout. 

“Come on, Mama,” Derek laughed, taking off his jacket and lifting it over her, “I’ll keep you dry.” 

Spencer was about to make a smart reply but was stopped when a girlish hand found its way into his. His breath caught, and he turned to look at Shawna, her eyes shining. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” He said quietly, squeezing her hand in return. 

“It’s good to see you again. I missed you.” 

For a moment, his mouth went dry, and he gulped. “I missed you too. A lot,” he said, struggling to keep his gaze level on her. There were licks of red up her neck, and he knew beneath the strategically placed choker there was a ring of purple. As it was, there were hints of the bruise peeking out from under her foundation. It was the residue of the latest harrowing experience, but even though Spencer was worried about her, he knew she didn’t need protecting. She wasn’t breakable. She was Shawna freaking Spencer, and she was the most beautiful woman in the world. 

The rest of the group began to respectfully filter out, only offering a glance or two behind them as they gave the two their space. Shawna smiled gratefully at them before turning back to Spencer, biting her lip. “We never really had a chance, did we?” 

“Well, we technically got one date when we were scouting out that restaurant for the Highway Man,” He smirked, and she laughed. 

“That’s true. And you know, despite the fact that that ended in a shootout, it wasn’t my worst date,” she said, and then it was his turn to laugh.

They sobered down for a minute, their breaths turning heavy as they properly looked at each other. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered. 

“You know I’ll always come for you.” 

“That is _so_ corny.” 

“It’s true,” He shrugged, and Shawna found herself sniffing. He looked away for a moment, before finally looking back at her. “It doesn’t matter, you know.” 

“What doesn’t matter?” she asked, even though she could _feel_ his answer if she couldn’t exactly put it in words. 

“That we never really got to date,” he said, chuckling. “I always loved you.” Both of their breaths quickened, and he stared down at their intertwined hands. “I’ll always love you.” 

For once, there was no quip on the tip of her tongue, and instead, with lips slightly parted, she grabbed onto his other hand. “I’ll always love you too, Spencer.” Rising on her toes, she pressed her lips against his, her hands snaking around his neck as his encircled her waist. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss, at least not from the perspective of those milling around the restaurant who spared a glance at the small spectacle. But yet, it was still perfect, their arms around each other, where they were always supposed to be, where they always had been, in some sense, through every case, every life-threatening situation, every rescue. In a sense, they would always be each other’s—no one could take those years from them, when they were the heroes of their own story. 

After a moment, they parted, and Spencer leaned his forehead against hers, his breath heavy. He wanted to beg her to come back with him, to where she had made her first home. But he didn’t say anything, because it wouldn’t be fair, just as she didn’t beg him to come be with her. Instead, they just let themselves have one more moment. 

“I guess our time has gone, hasn’t it?” He said, his breath ragged. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I’m not,” Spencer replied. 

She took a step back, not relinquishing her grip on him, and she smiled genuinely at him. “You know what? Neither am I.” 

“Hey, the rain’s letting up!” Penelope called over to them, and both of their heads jerked over to the rest of their little family. Spencer smiled at her, and she kept smiling at him, and their hands fell to their respective sides, feeling just a little bit more empty for it. 

They all made a run for to their cars, stopping shortly for final goodbyes and hugs. When Shawna reached Rossi, he held her tightly. “Hey kid,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m proud of you.” 

“Thanks Papa Rossi,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice, although the twinkle in her eyes was entirely genuine. 

Eventually, they parted their ways, the Behavior Analysis Unit going back to Washington D.C and the police consultants going back to Santa Barbara. There was a certain warmth that filled Shawna’s entire being as they stepped into the blueberry, and Gus hesitated before starting the car. 

“It’s not too late, you know,” He said, looking over at his best friend, at the way joy and sadness were intermingling on her face. “For you and Spencer.” 

She smiled sadly at him, leaning her head against the window. She decided not to dwell on the Head Detective that suddenly flashed through her mind, and only shook her head. “Yeah, it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for sticking with me through this late night, plot bunny intoxicated mess! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you find it enjoyable!
> 
> So, the question is, what are we all thinking? Shassie or Spencer Squared?


	30. Back on the Horse

Officially, Shawna was on bed rest. 

Unofficially, she was sitting on Detective Juliet O’Hara’s desk, flipping through the colorful sticky note pad situated at the corner. The detective herself was gone, leaving just Gus impatiently waiting by the side of her. “You’re not supposed to be here, Shawna.” 

“And where’s the sign that says that?”

“Shawna, I’m being serious! The doctor clearly instructed—”

“See, I’m going to stop you right there.” Shawna swung her legs around the desk, sliding off to face him. “The doctor _suggested_ I stay in bed. And you know what is one step away from physician?”

“Don’t say psychic.”

“Psychic,” Shawna said, grinning over at him.

“Alright, look, why don’t you really tell me what I’m here for,” He said, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes at her.

Shawna sighed, rolling her eyes before crossing her own arms. “Okay, look, I _may_ have been listening in on the police scanner…”

“I knew it! You’re here because you want to get it on some case they’ve got,” He said, sticking his finger in her face.

“Well, not exactly,” Shawna said, shrugging her shoulders. “Technically, the case should be closing. And,” she said, sliding her phone out of her pocket, “Lassie should really be showing up in three, two, one…”

The only people who came through the door were a few beat cops, and she pouted. “Hold on. Three, two…”

“Did they find Jacob Spears?” Gus cut in, his voice softer than it had been.

“Yeah,” Shawna replied, nodding her head, her voice not betraying any particularly intense or out of place emotion.

“Shawna, are you sure this is a good idea?”  
“Of course it is,” she replied cheerfully. “I want to see the look on Lassie’s face when he brings him in. Because, come on,” she said, flashing him a toothy grin, “now I know Lassie worries about me.”

“You got that right,” Gus grumbled. “He was way worse than usual to work with.”

“Aw, come on. You have to admit the case made you on edge too,” she teased, bumping shoulders with him.

“Of course it did.” Something about the matter of fact-ness in his voice caused her to still, and she frowned slightly. “I was terrified for you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She had said that since the hospital, of course, but she knew she had put Gus through hell and some how she felt “sorry” would never be enough.

Still, Gus just shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing to be sorry about, really. It wasn’t your fault. But I still think you should start carrying again.”

“I’ll think about,” Shawna smiled.

It was then, without any pomp from Shawna, that the door swung open, the sunshine pouring in on Lassiter who was tightly gripping the arm of his old training officer—Jacob Spears. Personally, Lassiter wished it had been pouring out. It was that kind of a day, and he felt like the sunshine was something of an oxymoron. He hated that it was such a nice day when he was dragging in the scum who taught him everything he knew (in a figurative manner of speaking, that is), who had hurt Shawna Spencer, the thorn in Lassiter’s side that he couldn’t imagine life without. The truth was, he had never been angrier at anyone in his life—and that was an accomplishment for Carlton Lassiter. “Hurry up,” He snarled, virtually dragging the older man behind him. And although Juliet would never have admitted it, she _may_ have purposefully tripped Spears.

And yet, when Shawna came bounding up to them, she was just as much a ray of sunshine as she always was, in stark contrast to the venomous glares shared by the detectives. “Oh, hey man!” she said, waving a bandaged arm at Spears. “Long time no see!”

Spears cursed under his breath, his previous cunning demeanor dropping into something far more monstrous. “How the hell are you still alive?”

“I think that’s a better question to ask about yourself, and believe me, you’re really making me want to make that answer a negative,” Lassiter hissed, sparing a glare at Shawna Spencer.

“You never were that good,” Spears snarled in return. Lassiter didn’t deign his statement with response, instead just rolling his eyes.

“Boys!” Shawna said, sounding dramatically exasperated as she walked to them. “To answer your question, I was going to die, but then I realized, I didn’t have an address that I could send a funeral invite to you. And I just couldn’t have a funeral without you,” Shawna said, smiling sweetly at him.

“For the love of—someone book him!” Lassiter said, shoving Spears towards the nearest police officer. “O’Hara…”

“I got this,” Juliet said, raising a hand before crossing over to Shawna. Immediately, her venomous stare that had been reserved for their perp was replaced with one of concern. “Shawna, you shouldn’t be up!”

“That’s what I told her!” Gus echoed in the back, and Shawna just smiled impishly.

“I had to see Spears one last time. It’s rude not to say hi before you testify against someone in court. Right, Gus?”

“Don’t drag me into this,” he snapped. “I’m starting to think your dad’s suggestion of keeping you in hand cuffs so you don’t wander off isn’t so neurotic.”

“Really? You hear nothing wrong with what you just said?” Shawna said, an eyebrow raised.

“You want to know what I think is wrong?” Lassiter clamped his hands down on both of Shawna’s shoulders, and she turned her head to smirk up at him.

“Lassie!” She said before he could even finish his thought—which was good, since he wasn’t sure himself how he was going to finish it. He certainly was _not_ going to admit that it was a relief to see her up and about, because _certainly_ his life would be easier if she never stepped foot in the police station, and he _definitely_ didn’t have a perpetually queasy feeling in his gut the entire time she had been in trouble—both when she was still in the hands of Spears and recovering in the hospital. “I know you were worried about me, man!”

“I wasn’t worried, I was doing my job,” Lassiter said, trying to steer her to the exit.

“He was worried,” Juliet said, smirking over at her parent before resting a hand on Shawna’s arm.

“O’Hara!”

“What?” Juliet replied innocently. “After having to deal with you and Gus and Henry this whole time, I don’t owe any of you anything.” She turned back to Shawna, and Lassiter gave up and let his hands fall to his sides. “It is really good to see you up and about again. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Shawna shrugged, her smile never faltering. “Thanks, by the way, for finding me. Both of you. And Gus,” she said, flashing a smile back at her best friend.

“You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing _we_ wouldn’t do for you,” she said, shooting a look back at Lassiter. “Which is why we’re going to have to insist you go home. You need to be resting!”

“Oh Jules, you know what they say about getting back on the horse,” Shawna replied easily.

“Oh no, there is no way you are getting in on an investigation,” Lassiter said, scowling, which she only rewarded with an even brighter smile.

“Because you’re worried about me!”

“I am not worried…”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Amidst their banter, no one seemed to notice the door to the Chief’s office swing open and shut, the Chief herself standing in the middle of the hallway with her hands on her hips. “A word, please?”

“See! She was expecting me,” Shawna said, which was accompanied by echoes of groans by those around her. She only winked at them as she followed the Chief into the office, plopping herself down on one of the two chairs in the room. “Chief Vick! It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you too, Miss Spencer,” She replied, her demeanor softening for a moment. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

“But she’s not supposed to be!” Gus cut in, and Shawna just rolled her eyes in response. But before she could say something, Chief Vick held her hand up.

“Be that as it may,” the Chief said, sending a warning glance to those in the group, “we have something important to discuss. Shawna, Detective Lassiter and I have been talking, and we believe it would be unwise to send you into an investigation given your current status. You have no training, and quite frankly, the department shouldn’t be putting you in that kind of danger.”

Shawna’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widening. “Chief, I’m fine...”

“Let me finish. If you want to continue your work as a police consultant, we want you to attend the Police Academy.”

This time, even Gus broke out in a grin. “The Police Academy?” He said. “Oh, we’re going to kill this, Shawna!”  
“You know that’s right,” Shawna said, smirking and offering her fist up to Gus, which he promptly bumped with his own.

“I mean, after you’re better,” He quickly cut in, his grin momentarily replaced with a scowl.

“I am better!” She protested, turning around to face him. “Look at me!”

“Guys, can you please continue your bickering elsewhere?” The Chief said with a look of long suffering.

Shawna only saluted her. “Of course, Chief! Now, as I was saying,” she said, standing up and hooking arms with Gus, who traipsed slightly behind her as the two detectives following them out.

Yes, despite what any of them said, it was good for all of them that Shawna was back at the Santa Barbara Police Department.


	31. In which Shawna takes stock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely sure how I feel about this chapter, but that's show biz. (For real though, I don't know if this writing is really up to par, but I wanted to get something up for you guys.)

For once, Shawna wished she had something other than her bike as she sat in the Santa Barbara Police Department. Maybe then people would stop staring at her. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she needed to take stock.

She had known all the right words to say in her psych evaluation, all the things she had to do to make the department psychologist write her off as ready to return to work. The psychologist who wasn't searching for incriminating behavior, who was content with her faked heart to heart. After all, the last thing she was going to do was spill to the _department_ psychologist.

And what was there to say? That her latest delve into the horrific didn't cause nightmares, because the nightmares were already there? That it provided no new fuel to her subconscious, that it was nothing unexpected, that she had seen the dark and it didn't surprise her? That it was just another example of her miserable mortality?

That the greatest consequence wasn't knowing that such evil existed, but that it followed her into her haven?

None of it was at all pleasant to think about, and her normally cheerful face was twisted into a frown, her forehead creased in deep thought. On some level, she knew she had to face it, but despite Gus's persistent meddling, she wasn't ready to turn herself inside out for a therapist to peer into her depths--not again.

It was while she was in this state of self contemplation that Lassiter and Juliet pulled up to the station. Two car doors slammed to the right of her, but she couldn't bring herself to pull herself out of her own meditation.

"Shawna?"

_Dang it._

She jerked up at Juliet's voice, quickly plastering on a smile. But it was fake and they both knew it--heck, even Lassiter felt a bit unsettled at that point.

Juliet half jogged up to her, somehow still appearing elegant even at such an awkward gait. "Shawna…" The words seemed to die on her tongue and she tilted her head to one side. “You had your psych eval today, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah.” Shawna shrugged her shoulders, only barely pulling off an air of non chalance. “So don’t worry, I’m headed home now,” she added, chuckling for Lassiter’s benefit.

“You want to get lunch?” 

“What?” Shawna said, her eyebrows furrowed together at the sudden request. “I mean yeah, that sounds great.” 

“Carlton!” Juliet called over her shoulder and held out her hand expectantly. “We need to take the car!” 

“What? No one drives but me!” Lassiter called back, his voice rising slightly in pitch. This only lead Juliet to more adamantly gesture with her hand, and he rolled his eyes. He was almost tempted to withhold the keys, as he would on any other day. But then a myriad of images seem to traipse across his brain--Shawna, the smell of burning flesh clinging to her like her own charred skin, her breath shallow and then for a moment, not existing at all, the way she looked in the hospital bed, and lastly, that fake smile across her lips. And for whatever reason, he tossed the keys to Juliet, albeit while scowling. “You better not get a scratch on her!” 

“I’m a trained pursuit driver, Carlton,” Juliet said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “What do you say we lose the testosterone?” She whispered in Shawna’s ear. 

Shawna couldn’t help it--her lips spread into a genuine smile, and for a moment all was as it should be in Lassiter’s world. “Let’s,” she whispered, hooking arms with Juliet, sharing conspiratorial glances as they climbed into the car.

The restaurant Juliet had in mind was just a little nook by the pier, a family run establishment with a deck overlooking the water. It was so Jules-ish in nature that suddenly it seemed impossible for Shawna to think they could be going anywhere else, and as she saw the way Juliet smiled at the hostess, she couldn't help but think that she had been let in on some intimate secret. This was not the place for first dates or careless acquaintances, it was the place Juliet went for reflection, a place that was hers and hers alone so no bad memory could mar the quiet spot.

And now she was letting Shawna in. It would be the perfect moment for a sudden vision, revealing that Shawna saw the intimate nature of the establishment, but just the thought left a bitter feeling in her stomach.

"Personally, I love their clam bakes," Juliet said, a tinge of excitement in her voice. "I mean, I know it's nothing like the hot dog stand outside the Psych office," she said, and Shawna laughed.

"I think it sounds delightful," Shawna replied, peering over the top of her menu to smile genuinely at Juliet. “But Gus and I have a policy of never ordering the same food so we can leech off of each other.” 

“Well if we’re doing that, better order something good,” Juliet said.  
“I’ll have you know, dear Jules, that I am quite the foodee,” She replied, sniffing as she feigned indignation. 

“You and Gus basically live off of comfort food,” Juliet said, grin firmly in pace. 

“And? Comfort food is the height of cuisine!” Shawna said, grin spread wide across her lips. 

“Sure,” Juliet replied, rolling her eyes good naturedly. “Hey, what do you think about getting the crab cakes?” 

“Sounds great,” She said, snapping her menu shut. “So, what have you and Detective Lassie been up to today?” 

Juliet pursed her lips, as if wondering exactly how much she could tell the psychic detectives who was, under no circumstances, supposed to be involved with cases until she had completed her crash course at the Police Academy. Truthfully, it wasn’t a topic she wanted to delve into at all. “Shawna,” she said slowly, each word measured carefully in her mind, “how did your psych eval go?” 

Shawna shrugged her shoulders in return. She was tempted to press Juliet for more details, but suddenly she realized exactly how tired she felt, like some great weight was on her shoulders. (There was a great weight, but she didn’t want to think about that). “It went fine.” 

Juliet frowned. “It went fine” was such a short, normal phrase, used flippantly to give finality to anyone prying into someone else’s business. It sounded wrong coming off of Shawna’s tongue, as if some foreign entity had invaded her body and was using her as a mouthpiece. At least, that’s what Shawna herself would say. And maybe, given recent events, it wasn’t too far from the truth, at least in the metaphysical sense. “How are you holding up?” 

“You know me,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. “I just want to get another case.” 

Juliet bit her lip, looking back down at the menu despite knowing exactly what she wanted. But she shouldn't be avoiding Shawna's gaze, and she had to be strong for her, so resolutely she raised her head. "Shawna, it's okay if you need a break. No one would think anything of it."

"Oh, I'm sure Lassiter would be thinking he was thrilled," she replied dryly. 

Curiously, Juliet frowned in response, and then just shook her head. "He would be glad you're safe. He _does_ have a soft spot for you, even if he won't say it." Her lips quirked upward, but just as Shawna was about to respond, she frowned again. "I'm just worried. I guess seeing you reminded me of some...traumatic experiences of my own. I just need to know you're safe. Psychologically, too.

Any witty retort died on Shawna's tongue, and her breath caught under Juliet's penetrating gaze, filled with compassion and honesty and _love_. Suddenly, Shawna felt every sensation so much more acutely--the gentle crash of the waves, the waft of salty air, the light sea breeze, the sun warming her skin, the way her wooden chair felt on her jean clad thighs. 

And then, just as acutely she felt an overwhelming desire to tell Juliet everything. She wanted to tell her about running away from her father at fifteen and moving in with Gus after _that day_. She wanted to tell her about winning a court case when her father tried to pull a fast one on her to “teach her a lesson,” about running away again with her cousin Riggsy, wanted to tell her about their years on the run, those wonderful, magnificent years where she was caught in between adolescence and adulthood. She wanted to tell her about how she learned to fight on the street, about her vigilantism, about joining the FBI. She wanted to tell her about Spencer Reid and David Rossi, wanted to tell her about how she looked in a pantsuit, about how _good_ she was at being a profiler. She wanted to tell her why she left, about when an unsub caught Gus, about blood and blades and the second worst day of her life. She wanted to tell her she wasn’t a psychic, but just another poor soul who was running from her past. 

She didn’t say any of that. 

Instead she pursed her lips, rehearsing every word in her mind lest the damn break and the secrets on the tip of her tongue spill over. “It’s...hard,” she admitted, her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s like, I’m now I know there are monsters hiding in the shadows.” _I’ve been looking for them so long it feels like I’ve always been looking over my shoulder, like it’s hard to remember what it was like before. Jacob Spears and Son were just another in a long line, nothing special._ “But waiting isn’t going to make the monsters go away. I need to find them.” She forced herself to look straight into Juliet’s eyes, her gaze matching Juliet’s in intensity. “I need to force them out.” 

Juliet paused. For a moment, she felt compelled to disagree, but something about Shawna’s confidence knocked her off kilter. Instead, she just nodded. “Okay. But if you need to talk, I’m here.” 

Shawna smiled. “I know. You always are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused about some details of Shawna's life that were revealed? 
> 
> Well, that's probably because I am going to be putting up a prequel made up of one shots/short stories of her past. Comment if that's something you would be interested in reading!
> 
> Love you all!


	32. Police Academy Take One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for sticking with me through this late night intoxicated mess. Enjoy this next installment of the Shawna saga. 
> 
> (Also, in hindsight I really should have added slow burn to the tags).

It took five weeks before anyone agreed to let Shawna start the Police Academy Crash Course. Five miserable weeks, including for everyone around her, because a bored Shawna got into all sorts of trouble. Like, for instance, continually stealing Lassiter's badge or his keys--sometimes both.

So when the day came that she would start, _everyone_ was excited, perhaps none more than Burton Guster. Although, judging on the fact that he was decked in _Police Academy_ sweats, that could very well have been for slightly different reasons.

"Oh, you know I was born ready for this," He said, one hand on the steering wheel as he leaned back, smirking over at Shawna. 

"You know that's right," Shawna replied, raising her fist, which he promptly pounded with his own free hand. "I, on the other hand, have to actually work at _not_ seeming ready.

"What? Are you crazy?" For a brief moment, Gus's head whipped in Shawna's direction to give her an incredulous look before refocusing his attention on the road. "You've done the FBI's Academy! You could kill this and shove it in everyone's face! No one could say you're incompetent then."

"Aw, come on, no one says I'm incompetent."

"Lassiter does."

"Yeah, but he doesn't mean it." She grinned over at Gus, her eyes practically twinkling. "Besides, being too good is bad for my brand."

"Your brand?" Gus scoffed. "You're a psychic _detective._ Your _brand_ should be great at this sort of thing."

"Naw. I'm the free spirit. I can't be boxed in with Police protocol. Besides," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, "if I'm _too_ good, people might get suspicious."

"And what? Immediately guess you used to be a part of the BAU? I've seen our best detectives. You could wear an FBI windbreaker and they still wouldn't know."

"Oh, don't go hating on Santa Baraba's finest," She admonished, albeit with a grin.

"Look, I'm not saying your head detective boyfriend--"

"My _what_?"

"...wouldn't have _some_ suspicion, but rookies and teachers who only read about you in the newspaper? Just psychically conjure up answers and tell them you're a dancer so the course comes easy to you."

"Let's roll that back. My _boyfriend_?"

"Come on. You're practically obsessed with teasing him."

"I tease you all the time! That doesn't mean anything!"

Gus tilted his head, his lip slightly curled. "Okay, point taken. But still, I said what I said."

" _Anyway_ " Shawna said, rolling her eyes, "it will just make you look that much better."

"Oh, you know that's right."

 

 

“Come on Gus, you got this!” Shawna yelled from the other side of the six foot wall.

“Shawna, don’t even talk to me! You walked around it!” Gus hissed, and she shrugged her shoulders, mostly for the benefit of Officer Rael, who was incredulously standing to the side of them.

“You know I’m a creative thinker. And I look for solutions, not obstacles.”

“You have to go over the wall!” Officer Rael sputtered, his hand running through his hair. “ _That’s_ the course!”

“Why would I go over it? It’s like five feet across,” Shawna said nonchalantly. “There is literally no reason for me to go over it.”

There was something of a squealing on the other side, and she peered behind the wall to see Gus desperately clinging onto the top of the wood, arms fully stretched out as he hung there. There was sweat practically pouring off his face as his arms shook with the effort of trying to pull himself up, which he only managed to do in centimeters. “Alright, hold on buddy,” Shawna said, smirking as she got behind him. “I got you. Give me your foot.”

“I’m not giving you my foot.”

“Just give me your foot!” Shawna said, bending over to grab his sneaker clad foot herself. As she grasped onto it, he jerked it backward, as if trying to kick her, which only caused her to hold on tightly. “I said give me your foot!” She said between gritted teeth.

“I can do this on my own, Shawna!” Gus said, even though he was practically wheezing from the continued effort.

“Of course you can,” She said, even as she began pushing his foot up. This, in fact, didn’t do much, so she gripped both his thighs in an effort to push him up. “Come on buddy! Use those delicious chocolate biceps!”

“I am!” Gus hissed, his knuckles turning white.

“One, two, three, go!” Shawna said, suddenly shoving him up. This lead to another squeal from him for an entirely different reason, and then he was toppling over the wall where he literally fell on his face.

“Gus? Gus!” Shawna said, running to the other side and collapsing beside her prostrate buddy. “Sir, man down, sir!”

“I told you to stop calling me that!” Officer Rael said, his voice turning into a whine as he stomped towards them. Not that she could blame him—she had not exactly made the day easy for him, which she thought about in no little amount of pride. “Come on, Gus, I need you to get up.”

“Shawna, I think broke a rib,” Gus replied, his words muffled as he was still face down.

“Naw buddy, you just bruised it. Come on,” Shawna said, hunkering down to get her shoulder underneath his arm, giving them both leverage as she slowly stood up, pretty much dragging him with her. “We get to swing on some ropes next.”

“The mud doesn’t look sanitary,” Gus wheezed out, practically boneless as she staggered forward.

“Naw, I’m sure it’s fine,” She said with a grin. “It’s tap water.”

“That is definitely not tap water. I’m going to get dystentery from that.”

"Come on, it'll be fun! I'll go first!" She jumped onto the rope, purposefully rotating her body so she ended up swinging _around_ the puddle in what she thought was a very graceful arc. Unfortunately, as she wrapped her body around the rope, this soon became an uncontrolled spiral, leaving her to pretzel her legs around the rope, and then she was left hanging in the exact middle. "Shoot," Shawna said, her lips pulled downward as she made a show of struggling to pull herself. "Gus, come on, man!" She held out her hand to him, adamantly waving it.   
"You'll make me fall!"

"No I won't! Come on, I helped you over the wall!"

"Fine just--stay still!" 

Unfortunately, when he reached out to push her hand, he himself lost his balance. The good news was, she was able to grab onto him and pulling him up with her. The bad news was he still grazed the ground.

And also they were now both stuck in the middle. 

"I told you this was a bad idea! I told you Shawna!"

"Oh, and it's my fault you have the balance of a one legged giraffe?"

Officer Rael was just about to utter a profanity--which he _never_ did--when none other than the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department strolled out onto the course. "Sir!" He stuttered, his eyes wide, having remembered from his academy days the various record Lassiter himself had set.

Lassiter, however, was paying absolutely no attention to the man. Instead, he was focusing entirely on Shawna and Gus as they grappled the rope, both taking turns pushing each other's faces. "Spencer!" He called out, positively grinning in delight when he surveyed the scene in front of him. "You're doing just about as well as I thought you would."

Gus, who was rather perturbed at the whole scene, responding by saying, "That's just about the best detective skills I've ever seen you use."

Shawna however was completely unabashed by any condescending glee, instead offering a grin in return. "Lassie! So good to see you! Wanna give us a push?"

Lassiter elected to ignore Gus entirely, rolling his eyes at their antics. "If you're going to pass the course, you're going to have to do that on your own."

"Fine. Then maybe the Spirit World will help me," Shawna said dramatically, fluttering her fingers and touching a single one to her head.

"Oh don't you dare…"

Shawna gulped in air, gasping. "I've got it."

"What is it, Shawna?" Gus asked, playing along with her charade, even if his voice was a bit strained. 

"A monkey. I'm channeling a monkey! Gus, grab my leg!"

"I'm not grabbing your damn leg!"

"I see a light! I'm going towards it!" She said, grappling the rope and shimmying up. She reached the top easy enough, for a moment pausing in concentration. Then, purely for effect, she swung herself up so her legs were encircling the board perpendicular rope. She then began the task of shimmying across, her legs and hands moving in tandem as she continued across. Finally, she reached a vertical board, and after a careful transition, she pressed her feet against the board, using her the muscles in her thighs to careful climb down, before jumping off.

Needless to say, Officer Rael's mouth was hanging open. Lassiter's eyes had also widened in surprise, and Gus--well, he still just looked mad.

Shawna shook herself as if coming out of a trance, before looking upward, kissing her fingers and offering them to the sky. "Thank you spirits."

"Shawna!" Gus cried out.

"Oh, right. Hold on, I got you." From the edge of the puddle, Shawna extended her leg to push him across with her foot. However, after the rope swung across, Gus still failed to let go. "Any time now, buddy," Shawna said, once again using her foot to push him.

"You're not pushing me far enough, Shawna!" 

"I'm fully extending my leg, Gus! I can't go any further!"

“Well try harder, Shawna!” Gus snapped. “Step in the puddle if you have to.” 

“You were the one who said we could get dystentery from it!” 

“Yeah, but this is your fault!” He said. 

“Fine. Fine,” Shawna said, rolling her eyes. She edged a little closer to the edge, although still not quite stepping in it. But instead of a controlled movement, Shawna whipped her leg up and caused Gus to lose his grip on the rope, plunging him into the water. 

“Shawna!” He screamed, jumping to his feet and immediately chasing after her. “Come here!” 

“No!” She squeaked in return, running backwards and away from the puddle he was no doubt going to try and push her into. She ducked behind Lassie, and much to his chagrin, she jumped onto his back and wrapped her legs around him like a koala climbing on a tree--and he certainly was _not_ going to think about how warm Shawna’s body felt against him.

“Spencer, get off me,” He said, gritting his teeth, in part out of frustration and in part to keep the squeak of surprise from escaping. He tried to pluck her hands off of him, but she clung to him all the more adamantly. 

“Shawna!” Gus yelled again, running around behind Lassie and prying his own muddy hands around her midsection and against Lassie in an attempt to tug her off. 

“Guster, this is a new suit!” Lassiter groaned, once again trying to pry Shawna off, but this time by trying to pull her legs apart. But surprisingly, her legs were extremely strong, and the unwanted thought that she might _actually_ have thighs that could kill a man traipsed across his mind.

Officer Rael himself was at a complete loss for what to do. Nothing had ever prepared him for this, nor did he think he could reasonably be expected to know how to handle a psychic detective piggy backing off a very unwilling, distinguished Head Detective, and her muddy best friend trying to pry her off. 

“I swear to God, I am going to shoot one of you!” Lassiter said, reaching for his holster in demonstration, although it was admittedly a lot harder because of Shawna’s position. 

There was a beat, and then he could feel Shawna’s chin resting on his shoulder. “Which one of us?” 

“Are you for real?” Gus said, clicking his tongue. 

Thankfully, for Lassiter’s own sanity, Shawna pulled back, clicking his tongue right back at him. The result was a conversation that was indistinguishable to both Lassiter and Officer Rael, their gritted words regular puncuated by more clicking of the tongue. In the end, Shawna slipped off of Lassiter--which was also an immense relief to him--and promptly ran off again, arms flailing wildly as Gus chased, until finally he jumped her and the two were rolling around the ground wrestling each other. 

“Have fun,” Lassiter said, smiling sardonically at Officer Rael, anxious to make his own escape. Wrinkling his nose, he looked down at his suit coat, now wrinkled from Shawna’s hold and muddied by Gus’s prints. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he groaned. 

Still, Officer Rael couldn’t help but think _he_ was the true victim here.


	33. She's the bomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! As you can see, this story is coming to a close, but it's only the first in what I have currently planned to be four stories. There is also a prequel in the works that will be up soon. As always, thanks for sticking with me even if my writing is fueled by my own inability to sleep.

At 8 AM at the Santa Barbara Police Academy, eager cadets sat with their respective note taking utensils, listening to their guest lecturer with apt attention. Well, except for Shawna and Gus. Shawna was sleeping, and Gus was sneaking snacks out of his backpack--cheez-its, specifically. This did not, of course, escape the notice of the guest lecturer--who happened to be Detective Carlton Lassiter. 

At first, lecturing at the Academy and keeping an eye on Shawna had seemed like a good idea, a great one, even. But it seemed that Shawna Spencer and Burton Guster were on a personal mission to wear his fraying nerves thin, which he was reminded of when he dropped his suit off at the dry cleaner’s. 

He was in the middle of explaining new technologies being used by the police force when Shawna began to drift towards the edge of the desk, shifting in her sleep. It was when she was just about to fall out of her seat that Gus made a grab for her, somewhat belatedly due to the fact that he had to put down his cheez-its which he wasn’t just going to let go to waste. As a result, his fingers were just barely grasping the back of her shirt as she lurched forward, her eyes snapping open at the sudden movement. “What’s happening?” she said, suddenly jerking upward. 

“Spencer,” Lassiter said, giving her a condescending smile, “if you actually pay attention, we _might_ let you back into big girl police work.” 

(As soon as he said the words, they stabbed him in the gut, because all he could think of was how helpless Shawna looked on the hospital bed, the brave smile she had given him, and before the that, when she was leaning over the toilet, her eyes wild and frightened and _not Shawna-like_. But he wasn’t going to think about that, because that would mean admitting he felt affectionate to her, and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to string those words together, even just in his own mind.)

Shawna herself didn’t pay attention to the words at all, instead redirecting her gaze to the projection. “New police technology? I don’t need that. I am the new police technology!” She said, grinning as she pointed to herself. “I’m Shawna Spencer,” she said, rather dramatically. “Head psychic detective at the Santa Barbara Police Department. Promised to be more effective than--” She turned back to the screen, squinting for a moment before triumphantly adding, “Shotspotters.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and control his temper. “Spencer, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re in the Academy because you are woefully unequipped for police work. Clearly, we have better assets than you,” he said, his nostrils flared. “Now shut up and listen.” 

Unabashed, Shawna, once again not passing up an opportunity to be dramatic, lifted her right hand to the side of her head. “Wait, I’m getting something,” she gasped, and she would have gotten up to spin around the room, except Lassiter had walked over to her and had shoved her down when she tried to get up. “You’re peeved. Peeved. Pee-eved,” she said, stretching out the word as she furrowed her eyebrows. “Gus, is that right?” 

“For once, yes,” Gus replied, slipping a cheez-it into his mouth. 

Lassiter elected to do what he had set out to do—ignore them. But given Lassiter’s temperament and the fact that he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of every movement they made (of every movement _she_ made) it was incredibly hard, if not impossible. 

“As I was saying,” he said, “shotspotters…” 

Immediately, Shawna’s hand shot up once again. For a moment, he drawled on, but he found himself losing focus as Shawna began to wildly wave her arm. Resigned, he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment in a futile attempt to collect himself. “Miss Spencer?” He said, belatedly realizing that he had completely foregone the title in their previous interactions, so comfortable with her that he couldn’t help but fall into old patterns. 

“So shotspotters,” Shawna said, pointing to the screen, “are machines. So, they can’t really predict human behavior.” 

“Where is this going?” He asked, regretting the question as soon as he asked it.

As if confirming his growing ominous feeling, she broke out into a wild grin. “I am so glad you asked, _Detective Lassiter_ ,” she said, exaggerating his own title to her own amusement, and the befuddlement of some of the students around her. In fact, the expression of the cadets ranged from confusion to knowing smiles that annoyed him to no end. “Because shotspotters are quite frankly prone to failure, like in that one episode of MacGyver. Which makes me Richard Dean Anderson and Gus Dana Elcar.” 

“Why do I have to be Dana Elcar?” Gus said, his head snapping up in frank displeasure. 

“Because that’s the only way this analogy can play out. What I’m saying is, I don’t just tell you where a bullet came from, but where the _next_ bullet is coming from,” she said, moving her fist up which Gus promptly pounded. “Because I’m _psychic?_

“Are you done?” Lassiter asked, rolling his eyes. 

Shawna hummed noncommittally, and Lassiter could only hope that that was an affirmation that she wouldn’t choose to be any more of a disturbance. 

This was not what she meant. She had, in fact, been throwing herself headfirst into her “brand” all week, as if she was trying to counterbalance the days prior, trying to stuff her past further into the closet and convince herself that she had not dedicated herself to a façade. 

So, it was not Lassiter at all that got her to stop talking. Rather, as her eyes combed over the room, as they were prone to do when she was bored, they suddenly fixated on the grate just to the left of Lassiter. And then she squinted. 

Something was wrong. A flash, faced away from the grate itself but faintly bouncing off the vent’s wall. Something was in there.

It should be noted that even though Shawna was _technically_ not allowed on any cases, that did not mean she didn’t keep up to date on cases and occasionally participate in a more covert capacity (no one said she couldn’t call in tips, after all). 

“Lassie,” she said, still staring at the grate. “I actually do have one more question.” 

“For the last time, it’s _Detective Lassiter_ …” 

“How mad did you make the drug running syndicate when you arrested their leader?” 

Lassiter stopped, frowning. “What are you getting at, Spencer?” 

She stood up, sprinting to the front of the room before anyone could stop her, dropping to her knees in front of the grate in question. Her eyes widened, but only slightly. She had known, of course, exactly what it was she was going to find. “I’m saying there’s a bomb,” she said loudly. 

“Damn it!” Lassiter hissed, running over to Spencer, his mouth dropping as he saw the tell-tale blinking. Immediately, he ran to the intercom. His words announcing evacuation were nothing more than background noise to Shawna—even as the other students exited the room, she was prying open the vent. “What the hell, Spencer! We have to get out!” 

“I can disable it!” She yelled back, not looking back at him, groaning as she continued to tug on the vent after she managed to loosen the screws with her fingernails. 

“For the love of—” Lassiter trailed off, his teeth gritted as he ran back to her, grabbing her and lifting her up off the ground. 

“Blue wire! I just have to clip the blue wire!” She yelled, kicking half-heartedly. He ignored her, instead electing to throw her over his shoulder, firmly gripping her knees to immobilize her. “Let go of me, Lassie!” 

“No!” He snapped, and she found herself gripping the back of his shirt to keep her chin from knocking against his back as he jogged out the door. 

She scowled as she pressed herself against him to avoid any jarring sensation. She _could_ disable it—she had seen the homemade bomb before. It was amateurish, a basic structure that could easily be identified and dealt with. But it wasn’t like she wanted to actually hurt Lassiter or disable _him._

And besides, she had put so much effort into rebuilding her identity that would go to waste if she _really_ tried. Flipping herself over and using her own weight to throw him off balance was, after all, decidedly off brand. 

“Lassie!” She said, her voice on the verge of a whine. He predictably didn’t pay any attention, and she felt the sun on her back as he opened the door. She halfheartedly stretched for the door, only to fall against him again. “Lassie, you’re the worst.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” He replied, and she could practically _feel_ his eyeroll.

“Shawna!” She had to awkwardly crane her neck up to see Gus, his mouth agape. “What were you doing?” 

“Trying to keep us from being blown up,” she replied, even though there were already sirens and police cars swinging into the parking lot. 

“That’s what we have a bomb squad for,” Lassiter cut in. 

“Speaking of, aren’t you going to let me down?” Shawna said, sharing a pointed look with Gus, who was looking at her in such a way that she did _not_ like.” 

“No. You’re just going to try and run in, and quite frankly, I don’t feel like trying to run after you.” 

She tilted her head to one side, and then nodded begrudgingly. “That’s fair.” 

“Lassiter! Shawna?” She could hear Juliet’s voice, and she held out her hand to wave, even if she couldn’t see her. 

“Hey Jules!” 

“Lassiter, what are you doing?” Juliet asked, clearly bewildered. 

“She wanted to disable it herself.” 

Although Shawna couldn’t see her, she could pretty accurately predict Juliet’s reaction—even if she herself _wasn’t_ a psychic. Juliet nodded her head, shrugging her shoulders. “That sounds about right.” 

In the end, the bomb squad didn’t _actually_ need Shawna’s help, and Lassiter finally set a very disgruntled psychic detective down when the scene was cordoned off. Shawna’s pride, which, while next to nonexistent, was present enough for it to be hurt by the events that unfolded. She sniffed, stalking off with Gus, who was still eating cheez-its. “I _could_ have taken care of it.” 

“I know,” he said, smirking knowingly as he patted his back. 

As for Lassiter, he had taken the liberty to take control of the scene, barking out orders to some of the beat cops. It was while he was doing this that he caught a snippet of two cadets conversation, their words whispered conspiriatorially. “Okay, but they’re _definitely_ sleeping together, right?” 

“No _way_ they’re not with that kind of energy,” the other conversant sniggered. Lassiter whirled around, ready to rip them apart limb from limb, but the cadets were all mixed together so it was impossible to tell who was actually talking, and he wasn’t about to amplify _that_ conversation. 

It wasn’t until later, when he got home, that it occurred to him that there was actually no real way to confirm who _they_ was--he had only _assumed_ they were talking about Shawna and himself. 

And he definitely didn’t want to think about why he assumed that.


	34. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a shorter chapter, but hey, I didn't wait two weeks to post again, so that's got to be good for something? Really though, this was the only way to naturally break it up. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

For the Santa Barbara Police Department, the last few months were ones to go down in the books. A gruesome tag team of sadistic serial killers, the capture of their favorite (and only) psychic detective Shawna Spencer, the arrest of the leader of a major drug running syndicating and a successful ensuing sting operation, broken up “only” by a homemade bomb placed inside the Police Academy set to go off when Head Detective Carlton Lassiter was still in the building. 

And despite all of this (although she _was_ still kind of mad she didn’t get to disarm the bomb), Shawna was still grinning especially aggravatingly in Chief Vick’s office. 

Then again, perhaps it was only fair. In fact, the entire station was in some state of good spirits. The trial of former Officer Jacob Spear had commenced and ended with a sentencing of life without parole. It had been a roller coaster of ups and downs, but the evidence had been clear from the very beginning. Plus, there was a bit of excitement when they were able to use a two-way circuit television for Doctor Spencer Reid when he was deemed unavailable due to his work on another case. Of course, it wasn’t quite over—Spears’ defense attorney _had_ filed an appeal—but it was a small fact that most everyone decided to overlook. Even if the appellate court did agree to hear the case, it didn’t change the evidence, and there was a general confidence that the decision wouldn’t be reversed. So, despite the excitement of bomb threats and other major operations, there was the kind of optimism that spurred Santa Barbara’s finest to action.

“Well, while this has certainly been hectic, I just want to say congratulations to all of you, what with Jacob Spears behind bars for good,” the Chief said to the ragtag gang in her office, a small smirk on her lips.

“And Kyle Shaughnessy dead,” Gus cut in. 

“Yeah, he was the one _I_ really got to know,” Shawna said, somewhat wistfully, which earned her stares from everyone in the room. 

“That’s messed up, Shawna,” Gus replied, frowning. 

“What? You really get to know a guy after he tortures you for hours. Speaking of, you still haven’t seen the scars on my thigh! They’re super cool!” She said, gesturing to her currently jean clad thigh, much to most everyone’s chagrin.

“I don’t want to see your damn scars!” 

“Alrights, ladies and gentlemen!” Chief Vick said loudly, earning her nothing more than another mischievous smirk by Shawna, which were given out freely. “What I called you all in for was to discuss the status of Miss Spencer and Mr. Guster’s employment.” 

“Right. I mean, come on, Gus and I did the whole Police Academy stint…” 

“Which you failed miserably,” Lassiter replied, glaring over at her, and for once, she glared back. 

“We were fantastic!” 

“You really weren’t fantastic if the goal was making you a police officer,” Chief Vick said drily.

“But isn’t that the point?” Shawna leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk, rising on to her tips toes as she pressed down. “Chief, you don’t hire me because I’m like every other black and white in this station. You hire me because I work differently. That’s why my methods work and why cases get solved.” 

The Chief sighed, for a moment closing her eyes and thinking it was high time she took a vacation. Still, she opened her eyes again, nodding her head slightly. 

“Chief, you can’t be serious!” Lassiter said, his mouth slightly agape. “She’s a liability!” 

“She _did_ know exactly how to disarm that bomb,” Chief Vick conceded, smiling slightly over at Shawna, who was positively beaming. 

“Yeah, and she would have disarmed herself if Lassie hadn’t manhandled her.” Gus stuck his finger towards the detective in question, his expression full of righteous indignation. “Which I’m pretty sure is harassment. We should file a claim.” 

“We could do that?” Shawna said, her voice full of wonderment. 

“No,” Lassiter snapped, glaring over at Gus. 

The Chief, on the other hand, only said tiredly, “Please don’t.” 

“But you’re saying I could.” Shawna grinned, looking almost drunk with power in that moment—not exactly the face of a girl who felt grossly violated. 

“But would you?” It was Juliet who spoke with a knowing tone, an eyebrow raised as she smiled sweetly at Shawna. 

“You don’t know me.” Shawna sniffed, but Lassiter was grinning triumphantly anyway. 

“Look, it might not have been entirely appropriate,” the Chief said, eyeing Lassiter, “but he did only have your best interests at heart, even if it was misguided. Don’t do it again?” She said to Lassiter, her voice taking on a pleading quality much to her own chagrin. Lassiter only huffed, his shoulder slightly rising and falling as if begrudgingly agreeing. 

Still, Shawna was hardly about to pass up the opportunity. “How about you let me back in on cases and we call it even?” Shawna’s grin returned, and she wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Alright,” the Chief conceded. “We’ll call you when we need you, Miss Spencer. For right now—good work everyone. You’re dismissed.” 

“Thank you Chief,” Juliet replied politely, to which the rest of them just nodded as they left the office. 

“This feels good. It feels right,” Shawna said, swinging in arm around Juliet who only smiled wryly at her. “Gang’s all back together.” 

“We _have_ missed you Shawna,” Juliet said truthfully, squeezing Shawna’s side. She paused, her lips pursed. “ You know, there is one thing that’s been bothering me. Daniel Heel had Jacob Spears pegged as the murderer from the very beginning. But Spears’ alibi _was_ airtight. How could he possibly have been at Heel’s window?” 

It was then that Shawna’s mouth dropped open in utter excitement, and she started positively bouncing. At this Lassiter scowled, her nostrils flared. “Don’t you dare…” 

But she had already raised her hand to the side of her head, her mouth closing only to offer a mischievous grin. “Because he’s psychic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with this crazed, intoxicated with plot bunnies mess! If you enjoyed this, please leave kudos, and I would love to hear what you think, so if you can go ahead and leave a comment!


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